Home of  Mickey Minner

FORTRESS
at the edge of the world
First Draft
@ Copyrighted 2008

CHAPTER ONE

Standing atop a stone buttress, dirty, exhausted and bloodied warriors watch as a body is pushed unceremoniously over the edge of the high precipice.

“Is that the last?” a warrior wearing the sash of command asks.

“Yes.”

“Then it is done.” The commander raises his bloody sword high above his head. ”May the flag of Arhdahl reign over our land until the sun sinks in the north never to rise again.”

The other warriors raise their swords to the sun and add their voices to the oath, “Aye. Long live the Realm of Arhdahl.”

The rattling of bones is heard behind the men and they turn away from the ledge to see an old woman shaking a carved cup in her deformed hand. She tosses the cup’s contents onto the stone surface at their feet.  

“What do the bones say, Crone?”

Long, twisted fingers sort out the bones, reverently touching each one, noting their positions yet not moving them. “The House of Arhdahl will fall.”

“That cannot be.”

 “It is told. A new order with ancient wisdom will once again rule.”

“Our enemies are defeated. Who survives to threaten Arhdahl?”

“A child will be born.”

“What child?”

The woman’s fingers again seek out the bones then she looks up with unseeing eyes. “The bones will tell.”

“Send messengers to every corner of the Realm. From this day forward, all women ready to bear a child must travel to Arhdahl Fortress. The Crone will toss the bones when each child cries their first.”

The woman gathers up the bones, placing them back into her cup.

Many generations later...

Deep inside the Arhdahl Fortress, a newborn child is placed on the scarred surface of a heavy oak table. The walls of the room are stone, as is the floor. There is but one passage into the room and no windows. The dark is broken by an eerie glow, candle flames flicker unsteadily from dozens of small niches carved into the stone walls.

A man, wearing the richly designed clothing of a ruler, stands on one side of the table. He is flanked by a man similarly dressed. He looks at the baby then across to the woman standing opposite him, nodding a silent command.

Gnarled fingers hold a wooden cup, shaking it. The cup is lowered to the surface of a table, its contents spilling out onto the wooden surface. The child lies quietly beside the scattered pieces of bone, its tiny body enveloped in a blanket.

“What do the bones reveal, Crone?”

The aged seer bends over the table, her fingers tracing the pattern of the sacred objects. “It has been foretold.”

“That’s not possible. The prophesy spoke not of a girl child. Toss them again.”

 The crone gathered up the small bones, placing them back in the cup. With a shake of her wrist, she mixed the bones then tossed them again onto the table beside the infant. “It spoke neither of a boy child,” she said as the bones came to rest in an identical pattern as before. Her fingers traced each bone. “It has been foretold.”

“This cannot be.”

“The bones of our ancestors do not lie. This cup is carved from the Tree of Truth,” the seer said as she gathered up the bones and placed them back inside the cup. “This is the child.”

“Unwrap her swaddling. I want to see her mark.”

Hands twisted from age that few ever attained carefully unwrapped the blanket to reveal a female child no more than a few minutes old. With gentleness not expected from one so old, the crone rolled the infant over to reveal a birthmark on the small of her back.

“She bears the mark of Oneida. The House of Oneida has served the realm with great honor.”

A nurse entered the room. She carried her bundle to the table and laid it beside the baby. “Another child,” the nurse says before leaving the room.

“Toss the bones.”

The crone did as she was requested then her fingers traced the new pattern. “This child is of no consequence.”

“Have it removed,” the man says, waving his hand to dismiss the second newborn. Then he reached inside his robe, removing a dagger from the sheath on his belt.

“Wait,” the man beside him said, placing a restraining hand on his arm. “Leave us, Crone.”

“What can this child do for us, Kala?” the man asked after the seer had shuffled out of the room.

“Do you not see, Micah? The first child is a threat to the Realm of Arhdahl.”

“Agreed. It must be killed. But the second child…?”

“What is its mark?”

Micah placed his dagger on the table then uncovered the baby. “The House of Alisdair.”

“The Protectors. How fitting.”

“I see not why this is of relevance. The child must die, Kala, to protect the realm.”

“No. To kill the child does not stop the prophesy.”

“Then what are we to do?”

“Send the child where it will not pose a threat.”

“This mother is from the House of Oneida. Surely, the child will grow to hear of the prophesy.”

“Yes. If the child was to grow there. But if the child was to grow within the House of Alasdair, the farthest fortress from Arhdahl…”

Micah studied the babies. “Will the mothers not realize?”

“They brought here as soon as they left their mothers’ wombs. They will not know.”

“Are you sure, Kala? The prophesy… With the birth of the child shall comes the death of the realm.”

“The child will grow…” Kala pointed at the second infant. “That child will grow as the child of the prophesy. It can do nothing.”

Micah pondered the solution Kala was suggesting. “The crone knows the truth.”

“She cannot see. She knows only two children were born. One of the House of Oneida. One other. She knows not which child is which.”

Daidam looked up from her lessons. She preferred to spend her days outside and having to endure hours inside the classroom studying ancient parchments was definitely not to her liking. But this was her sixth summer and, like the other children of the House of Alasdair, she had begun the training required of all fortress guards. Resigned to her immediate fate, she returned to her studies. But only after offering a silent wish for the afternoon to arrive quickly when it would be time for the daily lessons to switch to the outdoors. She looked up again when a shout was heard from the fortress gate.

“Thoralf of the House of Alasdair has returned from Arhdahl Fortress. She brings her child, blessed by the crone.”

Daidam pushed her chair back from her desk and ran to the window, along with the other children, to watch the possession file through the gate. Her father had been one of the guards to accompany Thoralf to the realm’s main fortress. It was a long walk to Arhdahl and, even to her young eyes, her father looked tired as he marched into the square with the others. She turned away from the window. “Instructor, may I go to my father?” she asked politely.

“Yes. Yes, you may all go. Their journey has been long. They will welcome your greetings of return.”

Daidam ran for the door, reaching it before any of her classmates. She didn’t stop running until she was beside her father. “Welcome, Father. You have been missed,” she said as she fell into step with him. The guard would escort Thoralf and her new child all the way to her family quarters.

“Thank you, Daidam. Are your studies going well?”

“Yes, Father. But I miss being outdoors.”

He laughed. “Yes, like me you are. How is your mother?”

“She waits for your return.”

“She is well?”

“Yes. Her belly has grown large.”

He sighed. “Then I will be returning to Arhdahl soon.” He looked down to see the look of disappointment on his daughter’s face. “But that is for another day. Today, I greet my daughter and wife. And tonight we celebrate with Thoralf and Ceancey. A child has been born to the House of Alasdair. A fine healthy daughter.”

“What is her name, Father?”

“Milas. It is a good name, a strong name. Just like Daidam. You will both serve the House of Alasdair well.”

Daidam smiled with pride. “Just like you, Father.”

## 

CHAPTER TWO 

Sixteen summers later 

Daidam stood beside the head of her bunk rummaging about in one of the nooks carved into the stone wall of the barracks. After a few moments, she pulled a strip of cloth free and sat on her bunk. Crossing her leg to rest her calf on her other knee, she set about cleaning her dusty boots.

“No purpose to rub them, Daidam. They’ll be dusty again before you reach the end of the family quarters.”

Daidam didn’t look up from her work to answer the man sitting at one of the tables on the other side of the barracks. “A rub of cloth might do your boots some good, Chaca,” she told the man playing a game of chance with three others.

“Ah, but is it not a sign of a good Protector to have dusty boots? Do they not belong to one who has completed patrol?” The soldier smiled raising a dirty boot into the air then slamming it down on the stone floor, a cloud of dust rising in its wake.

One of the other men at the table waved a hand in front of his face as the dust cloud spread. “I see it has been decided who will sweep out the barracks this eve.” Daidam smiled at the Captain of the Guard’s pronouncement. “Daidam speaks true, Chaca. Your boots are dirty whether you leave on patrol or return. A good rub would not harm them.”

“Aye, Captain,” the man said nodding. “I shall do as you say just as soon as I win this round.”

The captain tossed a pair of flat stones on the table, one side of each stone was colored red, the other side blue. He laughed when the stones came to rest with both red sides hidden. “This eve does not suit you, Chaca. Slacy!” he announced then slapped the table with his hand.

Daidam stood and snapped the cloth a few times to shake the dirt from it. After all, she would not be sweeping the floor. She tossed the cloth back into the nook then took a final look into the polished stone mirror beside the nook. She adjusted her pants until the strips down their sides were perfectly straight. Then she tugged on her tunic’s hem around her waist, straightening the cloth on her shoulders. Satisfied, she grasped her spear and turned away. To either side of her, a row of bunks stretched to the ends of the barracks while the opposite side of the room was occupied by groupings of tables and chairs where the guards took their meals or spent endless hours playing Slacy when they had no duties to perform.

“The moon shall light your steps this eve, Daidam,” the captain said as she approached.

Daidam nodded. “It is good.”

“I bid you to be extra watchful.”

Daidam smiled. “Aye, Captain. I expect to hear your boot strikes before the dawn.”

Chuckling, the captain stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You have learned well, daughter.” They both looked toward the barrack’s doorway when the guard finishing patrol entered. “Now, go. It is not good to leave the Fortress unprotected.”

Daidam nodded. With steady, sure steps she walked across the stone floor and disappeared outside.

Situated at the very end of a butte towering above all that surrounded it, Alasdair Fortress was the furthest outpost of the Realm of Arhdahl yet it served as its first defense against any threat from the Abyss.

Milas sat on the most prominent point of the cliff buttress, her legs dangling over the rock cliff and her position partially obscured by the stones around her. She had learned that if she sat very still when the guards made their patrols, she would be unseen in the night’s shadows. As had become her habit, she looked down into the Abyss far below at the foot of the butte.

After leaving the barracks, Daidam began her patrol by walking the length of the narrow passage that fronted the various underground cavities where the family quarters were located. She smiled at the familiar sounds coming through the doorways and envisioned her own family quarters- her mother preparing the eve meal and her younger brother studying his parchments in anticipation of their father’s arrival when he would question Kailen on the day’s studies.

Her steps brought her to the end of the passage and she walked up the ramp that would return her to the surface of the butte.

“Daidam?”

She stopped and turned around. “Thoralf? What takes from your family this eve?”

“Have you seen Milas?”

“I have not.”

“She did not return from her studies this day. It will soon be dark.”

“You need not worry. She is almost finished with her studies. Soon, she will be patrol as I.”

“You will watch for her?”

“Aye.”

“Tell her, her eve meal is waiting.”

“Aye.”

“And, her mother worries.”

Daidam smiled. “At the risk of having a boot thrown at me, I will do as you ask, Thoralf.”

“You know my daughter well.”

“None like to hear of a mother’s worry.”

“You speak true. Good eve to you, Daidam.”

“Good eve, Thoralf.”

Thoralf watched her walk to the top of the ramp. “But mothers do worry,” she whispered before returning to her quarters and waiting husband.

“That be truth,” Daidam said, grinning. She turned to her right to walk across the open square in the center of the fortress, the rock surface also serving as ceiling to the quarters and barracks below her feet. Daidam followed a route walked by generations of Protectors before her; never did it occur to her to vary her steps.

After crossing the square, she paused at the Fortress gate formed by two large boulders placed ten strides apart. From each boulder, a deep groove, scraped into the hard stone surface ran in opposite directions toward the butte’s precipices. When the groove came within ten strides of the drop off, it turned to perfectly trace the butte’s contours- never being further or closer to the edge than ten strides. Daidam followed the groove as it encircled the fortress.

 Daidam had completed one full loop of the fortress and stood again at the boulder gate. She turned around to reverse her steps. It was now full dark and, to the north of the butte, the moon was shining brightly. She reached the point where the groove turned to follow the precipice. Something caught her eye and she stopped, tightening her hold on her spear as she dropped it into battle position. Peering into the shadows at the very edge of the butte, she saw movement. “Who threatens the House of Alasdair?” she called into the darkness. “Speak true or I’ll alert the Fortress.”

“Don’t. It is Milas.”

“Milas?”

Milas stood and eased away from the cliff. “Yes, Daidam. I pose no threat.”

“You have left the fortress.”

“I stepped beyond the groove, yes. But it is nothing but—”

“It is forbidden.”

Milas moved closer to Daidam. “Why?”

“Why? What do you mean?”

Milas studied the woman standing before her, the toes of her boots barely touching the lip of the groove while her spear extended past it. “Why is it forbidden, Daidam? Why are we not to cross that rut in the stone yet your spear passes over it?” Daidam yanked her spear back until it too was inside the groove. “It is but an imaginary barrier. It serves no real purpose.”

“It is for the protection of the Fortress and of the Realm. It protects us against those that would threaten from the Abyss.”

Milas laughed, sitting on a boulder on the wrong side of the groove. “What threat? Have you ever looked down there?”

Daidam shook her head. “It is forbidden.” She relaxed her grip on her spear. “What is down there, Milas?”

“It is beautiful, Daidam. Trees reach as far as you can see.”

“Trees?”

“Yes. So many it is impossible to count. And there are rivers that flow wide and free.”

“You speak true?”

“Yes.”

“But…” Daidam looked around.

“I look into the Abyss and I wonder why we live on this barren rock? Why we must scrape deep holes into the stone to catch rain water? Why the Realm struggles to survive when down there is everything we hope for.”

“It cannot be.”

“But it is. Come,” Milas said standing and holding out a hand, “I’ll show you.”

Daidam backed away. “No! You must come back. Come back within the Fortress.”

“Please, Daidam.”

“Daidam! What danger have you found?”

Daidam spun around. “Captain, the danger is none. It is Milas, daughter of Thoralf.”

“It cannot be. Milas is of our House.”

“She speaks true,” Milas said toward Daidam and the Captain, intending to step back over the groove.

“No!” the Captain thrust his spear to stop her. “Any found within the forbidden zone must die.” Milas froze at the words.

“Father!”

“Daidam, it is ordered. You must obey.”

“But, Father…”

“Send her back into the Abyss.”

“I cannot. It is Milas, daughter of Thoralf, House of Alasdair.”

“Milas is no more. She entered the forbidden zone.”

Daidam watched in horror as her father thrust his long spear at Milas, driving her back toward the cliff edge.

“My honor for the Realm of Arhdahl,” the captain cried as he stormed toward the groove, his spear thrust out in front of him. Milas back pedaled to the very edge of the precipice, her boots slipping in the loose pieces of stones.

Daidam reached out to stop her father, she grabbed for him as he crossed into the forbidden zone in pursuit of his quarry. But she missed and he charged toward Milas, struggling to maintain her tenuous footing. He made one final thrust. In desperation, Milas grabbed hold of the spear. “Father!” Daidam screamed when both tumbled out of sight.

CHAPTER THREE

 Chaca walked across the fortress square beginning his patrol duty. When he heard a shout, he looked to the northern side of the butte and saw someone standing at the cliff’s edge. “Captain of the Guard,” he shouted back over his shoulder as he ran toward the intruder. Skidding to a stop at the groove, he held his spear out in front of him in attack position. He could hear boots striking the ground behind him as others ran across the square in his direction.

“What threatens the fortress?” a female guard asked as she skidded to a stop beside him.

“I know not, Frenah,” Chaca answered. “Captain of the Guard,” he shouted again.

Frenah looked back at the others hurrying toward them. “I do not see him. Why does he not come?”

“He is dead.”

“What say you?” Chaca asked.

Daidam turned to face the others. “He is dead!”

“This cannot be.”

“Daidam?” Kailen called out when he arrived to find his sister in the forbidden zone.

Chaca grabbed Kailen to prevent him from going after his sister. He passed the boy to Frenah then turned his attention back to Daidam. “What have you done? How do you say the Captain is dead?”

“Father is dead?” Kailen exclaimed.

“What of my daughter?” Thoralf asked, pushing her way through the group of guards and others now gathered at the groove. “Daidam, what of Milas?”

For an answer, Daidam shook her head.

“Daidam, come back within the fortress. Tell us what threat you faced this eve,” Thoralf said, reaching her hand out over the groove to the guard.

Chaca pushed Thoralf away. “She has entered the forbidden zone.”

“To protect the fortress. She cannot be punished for that.”

“It is forbidden. Go back to your quarters, woman. The Captain of the Guard will decide her fate.”

“Do you not listen?” Daidam screamed. “He is dead! As is Milas.”

“No!” Thoralf cried.

“Daidam,” Frenah spoke calmly. “You must tell us what threat was faced. Why have two of the House been taken?”

“It was… It shouldn’t have…” Daidam stammered. “Milas… She was… There was no harm.”

Chaca frowned. “Your words make no sense. Tell us true.”

“Milas… I told her to return to the fortress—”

“It is forbidden.”

“Aye,” Daidam said wearily. “Fa… Captain of the Guard forbade her. He… He returned her to the Abyss.”

Chaca nodded approvingly. “He served the Realm.”

“What of Daidam?” Kailen asked.

“She is no more.”

“What say you, Chaca? She stands before our eyes.”

Chaca raised his spear to his shoulder, his action immediately duplicated by the other guards.

Daidam turned around, offering her back as a target. As she waited, she looked down hoping to see some movement that would mean her father or Milas had survived. But the distance was too great. Then her eyes spotted something. It wasn’t movement but an anomaly on the cliff face and not far below her. “Can it be?” she whispered.

“Guards, protect the Realm,” Chaca commanded.

Daidam stepped forward at the same instant the guards thrust their spears.

A wolf trotted along a path that weaved its way through the thick forest. As he rounded a turn, he spotted a fox standing beside the trail. He did not slow his steps as the fox joined him. “You heard?”

“Yes. The cry woke me. It did not sound of one of our own.”

“No. It came from above.”

“The land of the two-leggeds?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think they come again?”

“We shall soon know.” Wolf said as they approached the foot of the butte. The forest faded behind them and the ground became uneven forcing them to move around large boulders that had long ago fallen from the cliff face. “Moose has found them,” he said when he saw the larger animal standing over a crumbled form.

“It’s a two-legged,” Moose said when Wolf and Fox trotted up beside him. Wolf cautiously approached the corpse, sniffing it. “There is no life in this one.”

Fox looked up at the moose towering above her. “This one? Are there others?”

“One. Over there.” Moose turned away to walk closer to the rock wall, his long legs stepping delicately over the rocky ground. Fox trotted ahead of Moose while Wolf continued to examine the lifeless body. “Careful. It still breathes.” Fox skittered around the second body then lowered her head and tip-toed closer. “How is it this one lives?”

“I know not. We must summon Badger.”

Wolf walked over to join the others. “I’ll go.”

“Tell her to bring her medicines.” Wolf nodded then ran back into the forest. “Moose, you must look for others. The two-leggeds deceived us before. We cannot let them do so again.”

“Will you be safe?”

“This one will not hurt me. Go. Make sure the Realm of Airini is safe.” Fox watched the moose trot off then she lay down beside the two-legged. Slowly, her body grew until it was equal in size to the one beside her. She lifted her soft, bushy tail and gently placed it protectively over the injured one. Then resting her head atop her front paws, she prepared for a long night.

Daidam dropped off the ledge, the guards’ spears passing harmlessly over her head to disappear into the Abyss. She braced for the impact she knew would come but still the shock of her boots landing on hard stone sent a jolt up her legs and into her chest. She stood for only a moment before following the path she had seen from above. Working her way down the side of the butte, she sometimes found it necessary to climb over boulders that had fallen from the rock wall or to crawl along stretches where the path narrowed to almost impassible widths. It was almost morn when she reached the bottom and began searching for her father and Milas.

CHAPTER FOUR

 When she finally reached the bottom of the butte, Daidam found the end of the path blocked by a field of bones that stretched along the base of the butte for as far as she could see.

“Why have you come down from your esteemed butte?”

Daidam looked to see who had spoken. She saw no one.

“Can you not speak?”

She peered across the bone pile to the forest. The trees stood close together with their thick canopies casting deep shadows. “Aye. But I see none to speak with.” Slowly, a shape took form next to the trunk of one of the larger trees. “What sort of being are you?” Daidam asked when the creature walked into the daylight, not on two legs but four. She grasped her spear firmly as she held it out in front of her.

“I am Coyote,” the animal said as he sat back on his haunches. He cocked his head and studied Daidam. “Do you not know of my kind, two-legged?”

“We know not of the Abyss.”

“The Abyss?”

“This land,” Daidam said sweeping her arm to indicate where they stood and beyond.

The hair on Coyote’s neck bristled. “This is not an abyss. This is the Realm of Airini. You would do well to speak the name with respect.”

“Airini? The name is not known to my ears.”

Coyote lifted a front paw and scratched under his chin. “Sadly, I am not surprised by your declaration. Go back, two-legged. Return to your butte.”

“I cannot. I must find Father. And Milas.”

“There are none of your kind in Airini, two-legged.”

“Why do you call me two-legged? I am Daidam of the House of Alasdair, Protectors of the Realm of Arhdahl. You would do well to speak my name with respect.”

Coyote laughed. “Respect does not come so cheaply, two-legged. Arhdahl means nothing to me but home to those who caused these bones to rest here.”

“I have not time for you,” Daidam said, stepping forward. The loud crack of a breaking bone froze her in place.

Coyote jumped to his feet, his lip curling as he let loose a threatening snarl. “You dare dishonor the sacred bones of the Winged! Fool! Go back!”

“Not without my Father and Milas.” Daidam raised her foot to take another step.

“No! Do not dishonor the Winged.”

Daidam continued and heard another bone snap beneath her foot. Before she could take a third step, a whirlwind arose from the bones and she was lifted off the ground and carried backward until she collided with cliff. The force of the blow knocked the air from her lungs and she collapsed to the ground.

Coyote settled back on his haunches. “You are a fool,” he said when Daidam sat up gasping for breath.

She reached up to rub her shoulder. “I am not,” she said as she struggled back to her feet. On shaky legs, she walked to where her spear lay on the ground and bent down. But instead of picking up the spear, she gently lifted one of the bones. She found it to be delicate and hollow, unlike the heavier and solid bones she knew to be in her own body. She placed it back with the others then picked up one of the strange objects she saw interspersed with the bones—it was long and slender with thin hair-like threads growing from their spines. “The Winged,” she whispered as she examined the feather.

“So you have heard.”

“Once. When I was young.”

Coyote laughed. “You are but a pup now, two-legged.” Daidam’s glare only served to make him laugh louder. “Tell me, two-legged, what did you hear?”

“A whisper.”

“About…?”

“The Winged.”

“What about them?”

“Only their name. It was whispered between two Protectors late one night when the wind blew up the sides of the butte making sounds as if it be more than just wind.” Coyote nodded knowingly. “Who are they? The Winged?”

Coyote sighed. “They are no more. But there was a time when they floated on the wind over Airini. They lived on the cliffs, raising young in the crevasses and caves.”

“What happened to them?”

Coyote thought for a moment. “Do you not know how the two-leggeds came to live on the butte?”

“What do you mean?”

“Go back. Ask your elders what became of the Winged. It is not a story for me to tell.” Coyote stood and stretched his back then turned away from Daidam.

“Wait. Please. I must know of my father. And of Milas.”

Coyote turned back. “What of them?”

“They fell. I must find them.”

“Fell? From up there?” Coyote asked, looking up to the top of the butte. “None but the Winged could survive such a fall.”

“Please.”

“Go back. You have no place in Airhini.”

Daidam tentatively moved toward the pile of bones but stopped when a sudden gust of wind blew against her. Dejectedly, she turned around and returned to the foot of the butte. She walked toward the path but was startled to discover it no longer existed. “Wait,” she called to Coyote who was entering the forest. “Where did it go?”

Coyote looked back over his shoulder to see Daidam shuffling along the rock face, her hands searching for the missing gap in the stone. He turned and trotted back toward her. “What of the path that led you here?”

“Speak not,” Daidam cried in frustration, “less you offer help.”

“Very well,” Coyote said and turned back for the forest.

“Don’t go. Please.” Daidam’s shoulders sagged as she spoke. “I intrude into your land not to dishonor. I seek only to return my father to Alasdair Fortress. To my mother and brother who moan him. And Milas to her mother, Thoralf, who cries her loss.”

Coyote sighed then trotted back to stand opposite Daidam. “You ask much.”

“Aye.”

“Come.”

“But the bones…”

“There,” Coyote gestured with his head and Daidam looked to see a series of rocks stretching from one side of the bone field to the other. “The stones rise above the Winged. Step cautiously.” Daidam followed Coyote’s instructions, carefully placing her boots in the center of each stone so as not to chance touching any of the bones that surrounded them. She did not dare to breathe until she stood beside Coyote. “Let us go,” Coyote said then he led her into the forest.

CHAPTER FIVE

Fox lifted her head and sniffed the air. “Wolf returns,” she said as she gently swept her tail off the two-legged sleeping beside her. She arched her back which lengthened as she stretched first one hind leg then the other. Then she stood and waited while her body returned to its normal size. Wolf trotted into the clearing. “Good morn, Wolf.”

“Is the two-legged dead?” Wolf asked of Milas, lying on the ground. Her position unchanged from the last he had seen her.

“No. She sleeps. Did you bring Badger?”

“For what good, I know not. The two-legged is but a threat to the Realm.”

“Wolf, you are too suspicious.”

Badger entered the clearing, her body lumbering along the ground on short legs. A coat of brown-gray hair hung on loose skin hiding the muscular body underneath. Furry ears sat on opposite sides of a wide head that narrowed down to a sharp snout. A strip of dark fur lined the top of her eyes and continued down her face before disappearing into the white fur covering the bottom of her chin and belly. And two sharp fang shaped teeth hung from her mouth matching the sharp claws adorning each of her feet. “How is it the two-legged still lives, Fox? The fall should have ended her breath.”

“Her will is strong.”

“Her will or yours?” Badger asked as she approached Milas.

“I helped not,” Fox responded, moving out of Badger’s way.

Badger shuffled around Milas, sniffing and prodding her with her snout. After she had circled her completely, Badger gently laid her head down on Milas’ chest. “Her heart beats strong,” she said moments lately after raising her head. She turned to face Fox and Wolf. “My medicines can do not for her. She—”

“Why do you call the two-legged she?” Wolf asked. “They are not like us with both male and female.”

Badger laughed. “Wolf, you listen to the old fables too much. Two-leggeds are more like us than different. This is a female, same as me.”

Wolf walked up beside Milas. “How tell you?” he asked, his head lowered to almost touching her as he examined the prone figure.

“Please, do not harm her,” Daidam shouted as she ran toward Milas, having just followed Coyote out of the forest.

Wolf reacted instantly, spinning around to face Daidam. Lips curled back and fangs displayed, he snarled at the intruder. “Coyote, you dare to bring another two-legged into the Realm?” he growled, his ears laying flat against his head.

Coyote positioned himself between Daidam and Wolf. “Stand down, Wolf. I found the two-legged at the bones of the Winged.”

“How did you come to be there?” Fox asked Daidam, ignoring the snarling Wolf who continued to glare at the two-legged.

“I followed a path from the bluff.”

“Path? What path?” Wolf asked. “I know of no path. The two-legged does speak true. We must destroy them both.” He lunged toward Daidam.

“No!” Badger shouted. “Wolf, stand down!” She rumbled up to Daidam. “Tell me of this path.”

“I know not of it before it appeared to my eyes. I saw it just as…”

“Just as what?”

“Just as Chaca ordered the guards to kill me.”

“For what crime?”

“For entering the forbidden zone.”

“Forbidden zone? The two-legged speaks nonsense.”

Badger turned and glared at Wolf. “Hush,” she hissed then turned back to Daidam. “The path, tell me of the path.”

“It hung to the side of the bluff, winding its way downward into the Abyss.” Coyote growled. “Airhini,” she quickly corrected.

“If you came down, why did you not return the same?”

“It is no more.”

“What?” Wolf laughed. “More nonsense.”

“Hush.”

“Can you not hear as I?” Wolf approached Badger. “The two-legged speaks nonsense. It must be a trick.”

“Hush. You do not know the stories from old as I do,” Badger admonished Wolf. “Tell me, two-legged, what became of the path?”

“It vanished. It is no more.”

Badger looked to Coyote for verification. “Is it so?”

“I saw it not.”

“I must consider these words,” Badger told the others then turned and rumbled back into the forest.

“Do you know of my father?” Daidam asked.

“Father?” Wolf huffed. “Male, like me? That is him, there.”

Daidam turned to look where Wolf indicated. “Father!” she cried seeing the crumbled body. She ran to her father and fell down beside him. Cradling him in her arms, she gazed on the father that was no more. “I will miss you Father. May you serve the Realm well.”

“Realm? What Realm?” Wolf asked. “Two-leggeds do not serve the Realm of Airini.”

Daidam gently laid her father back down before answering. “He is Captain of the Guard, House of Alasdair, Guardians of the Realm of Arhdahl,” she said proudly.

“He is dead,” Wolf grunted, unimpressed.

“He serves the Realm… still.”

“He is still dead,” Wolf muttered as he sat back. “As should you all.”

“Milas lives?”

“Milas? Is that how you call this two-legged?” Fox asked.

Cautiously, Daidam skirted around Wolf. “Yes. Her name is Milas,” she told Fox.

“And your… name?”

“I am Daidam. How is she?”

“She breathes.”

Daidam dropped to her knees beside Milas and gently placed a hand against her cheek. “How can this be?”

“It cannot,” Wolf muttered.

“Perhaps,” Coyote whispered, “she has powers you know not.”

CHAPTER SIX

Daidam sat beside Milas as she continued to sleep. Fox was stretched out beside the two women keeping a watchful eye on Wolf who was pacing nervously a short distance away. Coyote had disappeared back into the forest. Fox and Wolf’s ears pricked up and both turned to look across the clearing to watch Moose trot out of the forest.

“I have circled the bluff,” Moose said as he approached.

“Are there others?” Wolf asked.

“No. They are but two.”

“Three,” Wolf muttered.

“Three?”

“Coyote found another at the sacred bones of the Winged.”

Daidam listened to the exchange, watching the new arrival curiously. Unlike Wolf and Fox, Moose was tall, taller than she even stood, with long, gangly legs supporting a thick, barrel shaped body. His head was long, ending in a bulbous nose and he had large brown eyes that reflected a gentleness Daidam did not expect from a creature so large and powerful.

“Three fell?”

“No. This one claims to have entered Airhini by path,” Wolf answered. “A path that is no more.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is a lie,” Wolf told Moose then he turned to glare at Daidam. “The two-leggeds must be returning.” He snarled. “Speak true, two-legged.”

“What does Badger say?” Moose asked.

“She has returned to her den to consider Daidam’s words,” Fox said.

“Daidam?”

“The two-legged claims that is how she is called,” Wolf explained.

“Wolf, will you settle in one place,” Fox said. “Your pacing is making me anxious.”

Wolf growled in protest before sitting back on his haunches. “As well you should be with our enemies so close.”

Daidam frowned. “Enemies? But I said we meant no harm.”

Wolf leaped back to his feet, snarling at Daidam. “Lies! Can two-leggeds never speak true?”

“But—” A hand on her arm distracted Daidam and she turned to look. “You’re awake,” she exclaimed when she saw Milas looking up at her. She scooted around, placing her back to Wolf as she momentarily forgot the threat he posed. “How do you feel?”

“Feel?” Milas reached up to touch her face. “Am I not dead?” she asked when she felt the breath she exhaled on her hand.

“You live.”

“How?”

“I know not.”

Milas looked around. Her brow furrowed when she saw nothing familiar. “Daidam, what land are we?

“Airhini.”

“Airhini?”

“The Abyss.” Daidam looked over her shoulder when she heard Wolf’s growl. “She knows not of Airhini,” she explained her use of the unappreciated name then turned back to Milas. “It is called Airhini by those who call it home.”

Milas pushed herself upright.

Daidam wrapped her arms around Milas to help her.

Milas smiled at her friend. Once her body adjusted to the new position, she began to examine herself for injuries. “I feel no broken bones. How can this be?”

“I know not.”

“You should be dead like the other two-legged.”

Milas did not have to ask what Wolf meant, the sorrow on Daidam’s face was sufficient explanation. Before she could say any words of comfort, Coyote called out from the edge of the forest.

“Wolf, stop your growling and help me.” Coyote was panting heavily. But instead of resting, he leaned down to re-grip the edge of a piece of bark with his teeth and resumed his difficult task. He tugged on the bark as he moved backwards into the clearing. The strip of bark was almost as long as his body and it held several round objects.

Wolf trotted toward Coyote. “What bring you?”

Coyote released his grip on the bark then turned to face Wolf. “Food for the two-leggeds. But it is heavy and I am tired.”

“You want me to help?” Wolf asked, indignant at the suggestion.

“I’ll help.” Daidam said. She stood and walked to Coyote. “What are these?” she asked as she lifted the piece of bark and its contents.

“Apples,” Coyote said, grateful his task was complete. “Surely, you know of them.”

Daidam carried the bark to where Milas still sat. “No,” she answered as she set the bark on the ground and picked up one of the apples. “You eat these?”

“I don’t care for their taste,” Wolf said.

“I do.” Fox walked to the bark and bit into an apple. Carrying it back to her spot, she chewed on the juicy fruit.

Daidam handed an apple to Milas then bit into the one she held. “It’s good,” she said, wiping at a trail of juice on her chin.

“Do you not grow them on the butte?” Coyote asked.

“No.”

Coyote stretched out on the ground, resting his head on his paws. “Interesting.”

Milas chewed on a bite of apple while she observed the creatures around her. “You call this land Airhini?” she asked Fox, who was the closest to her.

Fox nodded as she continued to enjoy her apple.

“It sounds pleasant to my ears, much more so than Abyss. Does it have meaning?”

“It is our Realm. The Realm of Airhini.”

“And what of your butte?” Coyote asked.

“It is the Realm of Arhdahl,” Daidam answered proudly.

“Does it have meaning?”

“No,” Milas responded as she reached for another apple.

CHAPTER SEVEN

 Fox, Coyote, Wolf, and Moose had watched Milas and Daidam prepare a shallow depression in the ground for the two-legged to be placed. They continued to watch as special care was given to collecting and placing stones until the body could be seen no more. Moose then wandered some distance away to nibble on clusters of flowers that grew on the end of long stalks. While seeming to give no care to the others, Fox didn’t fail to notice that his large brown eyes kept watch on the two-leggeds.

“What are we to do with them?” Coyote asked Fox.

Wolf snarled. “They cannot stay.”

“They cannot go,” Coyote told him. “The path is no more.”

“If it ever existed.”

Fox stretched then curled her body until her head could rest on her front paws. “We wait for Badger.”

“To tell us what?” Wolf growled. “That the two-leggeds threaten Airhini? This we know.”

Coyote sighed. “They have made no threats.” He flopped over onto his side. “Why do you not trust their words?”

Wolf glared at the relaxed Coyote. “Are they not two-leggeds.”

“You speak true.”

“Then that is your answer.”

Coyote laughed. “You are a good guardian, Wolf. But see no threat where none be.”

“Your words are twisted.” Wolf grumbled before stalking away to find a shady spot to wait for Badger’s return.

Milas, her arms full of stones, walked back to where Daidam knelt beside a mound of rocks. She stood patiently while Daidam removed each stone from her arms and added it to the pile.

“It is done,” Daidam said when the last stone was placed. Then she reached out and lovingly rested her hand on top of the rock tomb that encased her father’s broken body. “May your spirit stay strong as you watch over Mother and Kailen.”

“Any you, Daidam,” Milas said quietly as she knelt beside her grieving friend.

Slowly, Daidam shook her head. “I am no more of Arhdahl. His spirit will not protect me.”

“Do not speak so. You are of the House of Alasdair as are your mother and brother.”

“I crossed the forbidden zone. My name is no more.” Daidam turned to look at Milas, her sadness reflected in her eyes. “As is yours.”

“It was a choice I made freely. You did not.”

“But a choice made serves no purpose to now question. We are as dead to the Realm as Father.”

On the ground next to Daidam was another yet another but different stone. While her father’s tomb was covered with sharp, jagged stones that had fallen from the sides of the butte that towered above, this stone was smooth and flat and large enough for Daidam to spread both palms across its surface without her fingertips touching any edge. And it was not as hard as the others, for she had had little difficulty scratching her father’s name into it. She reached down to lift the name stone and, with the help of Milas, it was placed so all who came upon the grave would know of the Protector resting there.

“He served the Realm well,” Milas said when the name stone was set.

“Aye.” Daidam lowered her head. Memories of her father flooding into her mind and she allowed herself the time to remember.

“What will become of us?” Milas whispered moments later when Daidam raised her head.

“I know not.”

Fox and Coyote’s ears twitched and their heads turned toward the forest. “Badger returns,” Fox told the others.

Wolf stopped his pacing and trotted over to face Milas and Daidam. His upper lip curled back to reveal sharp teeth as he released a low growl. “Good. Now we can be rid of the two-leggeds.”

Badger entered the clearing. Fox and Coyote fell into step behind her as she rumbled past and Moose trotted over to join them. Badger stopped at the grave. “You have done well with your respite,” she commented. “It is good. And you? Do you still suffer?” she asked Milas.

“I feel no effects of the fall.”

“You are strong.” Badger swung her head around to look at Fox, “Yet others have strengths few might see.” Fox simply cocked her head at Badger’s admonition.

“Enough of this,” Wolf interrupted. “Did you consider the two-legged’s words?” Badger nodded. “They are lies, are they not?”

Badger did not answer Wolf. Instead, she looked at Daidam. “You spoke of one called Thoralf.”

“Mother?” Milas blurted out.

“You are of her blood?” Badger asked.

“Aye.”

Badger thought for a moment. “Then it is decided,” she finally said.

Wolf smirked. “They will join the other under the rocks.”

“No. They are to return to the butte.”

“But… How?” Daidam asked. “The path is no more. You have seen for yourself,” she said to Coyote who nodded. She twisted to look up the face of the cliff behind them. “To climb cannot be.”

“You will return,” Badger told Daidam. “But first, there are truths for you to learn.”

“I do not understand,” Daidam said.

Badger smiled, knowingly. “You will. Now go. Find your way back.”

Wolf growled. “No! You cannot allow them to move at will. They are a threat.”

“They are but two. They can bring no harm.” Badger moved to stand between the two-leggeds and the snarling Wolf. “They must find the way.”

“Then, as Protector of Airhini, I shall guide them.”

Badger shook her head. “No. They have many questions for which to seek answers. This cannot be with you at their side. But you speak true, a guide will be needed. Coyote will accompany them. But,” she said turning to face Coyote, “only until you find the path that will take them to the top of the butte.”

“And where shall that be?” Coyote asked. “Where will it appear to me?”

“That is for them to choose.”

“Why do you speak as if we agree with your words? And why did you speak of my mother?” Milas asked.

Daidam added her concerns. “We cannot return to Arhdahl. It is forbidden. Why do you not hear this?”

Badger turned around to face them. “Questions you may ask, but answers you must find. Go now.” She then turned around and walked back toward the forest, Fox and Moose following her. After a last glare and snarl, Wolf also trotted away.

“You must ask,” Coyote said when Daidam and Milas looked at him in confusion after the others had disappeared back into the deep shadows cast by the trees.

“I know not what to ask,” Daidam muttered. “Milas, what say you?”

“My head is spinning, Daidam,” Milas said. “Their words make no sense.”

Daidam rubbed her stomach. “My belly grumbles with emptiness and I cannot think.”

“The apples are gone,” Milas said after looking at the empty piece of bark under the tree.

“Are there more?” Daidam asked Coyote.

“Come, I will take you.”

Badger sat just inside the forest. Fox and Wolf sat beside her and Moose stood behind them. “Moose, go and tell all you meet that they are not to hinder the two-leggeds. Let them move through the Realm unchallenged.”

“As you say,” Moose said then trotted off.

“Wolf, I know you do not understand my reasoning.”

“You have provided none.”

“No. But trust you must give.”

“You allow the two-leggeds to live. Do you trust them?”

“Aye.”

“I cannot do the same,” Wolf said before trotting further into the woods.

“He will follow,” Fox said.

“Aye. But he will not interfere.”

“The two-leggeds will learn of their past?”

“Aye.”

“And what of their future?”

Badger smiled. “It is a choice not of my making.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

 Daidam and Milas looked around curiously at their surroundings. Coyote had led them away from the butte and deep into the forest where the thick tree trunks were so close together it was difficult to see more than a few paces in any direction. Yet, Coyote unerringly weaved between the trees even though there was no discernable path to follow in the dark shadows.

“Where do you take us?” Daidam asked.

“Where did you ask?” Coyote responded.

“We asked for more apples.”

“And apples you shall have.”

“But the distance walked has been long and no apples found.”

“Can you not smell them?” Coyote asked.

“I smell much that is unfamiliar to me.” Milas told Daidam after sniffing the air. “How are we to know what of these smells is from apples?”

Daidam shook her head. “I judge we have been led a great distance for naught.”

Coyote huffed. “You judge wrong. The distance has not been far.”

“But what of the apples? What smell is of them?” Milas asked.

“Have you not tasted them?” Coyote asked.

“Aye.”

“Did the sweet juice not flavor your tongue?”

“Aye.”

“Yet, you did not smell the apple’s scent?”

Milas imagined holding one of the round apples to her lips. She smiled. She had noticed a pleasant scent when she bit into it. “I did. It is a sweet fragrance unlike any known in Alasdair.” She sniffed the air again. “But I do not detect it again.”

“That is strange,” Coyote told her. “For the orchard is upon us,” he said as the woods abruptly ended and they walked back out into sunlight.

Daidam and Milas stopped and stared. They were standing at the edge of a large clearing surrounded by forest. It was square in shape with each side approximately one hundred paces long. Unlike the woodland of large, thick trunk trees that grew to great distances above their heads, the clearing was full of trees with delicate trunks that grew no more than what Daidam stood before dividing into smaller branches which divided again, each new set being smaller than the last. The trees, in neat rows and spaced an equal distance from the others, were covered in bright green leaves. And apples- so many sweet red apples hung from the trees that the slender branches drooped under their weight.

“Why are the apples not gathered?” Daidam asked, pulling one free of its branch. The ground beneath the orchard was covered with apples that had fallen off the trees when the stems could no longer hold them.

“For what purpose?” Coyote asked as he stretched out in the shade of the tree.

“To protect,” Milas answered. “To do otherwise can only bring harm to the Realm.”

“Which Realm? Airhini? Food is everywhere. There is no need to do such.”

“The Realm of Arhdahl.”

“Is food not everywhere?”

“No. It is difficult to grow and what is grown must be protected,” Daidam said as she reached for another apple.

“Protect food? I hear your words but I do not understand,” Coyote told them. “We have no purpose for doing such. As I told, food is everywhere in Airhini.”

“Then why plant the orchard?” Daidam asked before taking a bite from the apple. She took time to notice the sweet smell of the juices that were released, some trickling down her chin. “Why plant what you already have?” she asked, wiping her chin clean with the back of her hand.

“Have you not answered your own question?” Coyote chuckled at the two questioning looks he received. “You need shelter for the eve.” He stood. “Go to the end of the orchard and wait for me.”

“Where are you to be?”

“You have apples to eat. It is time for my eve meal.”

When Coyote trotted back toward the spot where they had walked out of the forest, Daidam and Milas turned and walked in the opposite direction. As they approached the far side of the orchard, they were surprised to see two small huts emerge from behind the apple trees.

“They are odd,” Milas said as she walked toward one of the huts. The structures were round in shape with walls of wood posts. The bottoms of the posts were buried in the ground while the tops supported bundles of long stalks bound together to form a peaked roof. At the front of each hut, a space had been cut to create a doorway. Next to it a smaller opening had been cut into the wall. She ducked her head as she entered the hut. “Daidam, come see. It is like the room in my family’s quarters.”

Daidam stepped inside. The sun’s last rays of the day were shining through the opening, bathing the interior in a soft golden glow. On her right was a sleeping cot and to her left, a table with a pair of chairs tucked neatly underneath. In the center of the hut, a depression had been scooped out of the dirt floor; blackened bits and pieces of wood could be seen resting at the bottom of the hole suggesting its use. She looked up to see that the bundles of stalks did not fully cover the hut; clearly visible was an opening sufficient for smoke to escape.

“It is soft,” Milas said as she examined the cot. Unlike the stone sleeping racks she was used to, the cot had a frame of wood with unusual fibers stretching from one side of the frame to the other. The fibers were not rigid but flexed when she sat on them.

“How does one sit here?” Daidam was bent over beside the table, studying the lack of distance between it and the chairs.

Milas rose off the cot to join Daidam. She placed the toe of her boot against a chair leg and gave it a nudge. The dry wood squawked as it scraped a hand’s width away from the table.

Daidam jerked upright, shocked by the movement. “They move?” She tentatively gripped the back of the chair and gave it a hesitant tug. When it shifted position, she yanked her hand away as if it had been burned. Milas laughed as the dropped chair toppled over. “Why do you laugh?”

“This is not Alasdair, Daidam,” Milas said as she reached down and righted the chair. “It is not carved from rock. Sit.” Daidam did as she was told. Then she placed her elbow on the table and leaned her head against her hand. Milas pulled the other chair free and sat down. “Why do you look so?” she asked her scowling companion.

“The eve I found you in the forbidden zone you spoke of the Abyss—”

“Arhini,” Milas gently corrected.

“Arhini. You spoke of a blanket of trees.”

“Aye.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You have seen the forest. We have walked in it for much of the day. Do you still not believe?”

“I believe. But why?”

“Why?”

“Why must our homes be carved from stone?” Daidam stood then picked up the chair and carried it across the room where she set it down and sat again. “Why can we not move a chair?” She stood and carried the chair back to the table.

“It is the way of the Realm.”

Daidam again placed her elbows on the table and dropped her chin into her cupped hands. “Is it? We have trees in Arhdahl. Why do we not to use them?” she asked quietly then answered her own question just as quietly. “If we ask, the Council would answer that they are to be used only for the fires that cook our food. To use them for other purposes would deplete the few that remain.” Daidam sucked on her lower lip then turned to look out the opening in the hut’s wall. In the fading light, she could see the orchard with its many trees full of the nourishing apples. Beyond the orchard and hidden in the eve’s darkness, she knew there to be an unending forest. She turned back to find Milas quietly studying her. “Do they speak true?”

“A question asked may yield more than one answer.” Daidam and Milas turned to find Coyote sitting in the doorway. Neither had noticed the return of their escort.

“To answer true is to answer once,” Daidam objected.

“How are you called?” Coyote asked.

“Daidam.”

“How am I to call you?”

Daidam considered the question but could think of no other answer than the one she had already provided.

“Two-legged,” Milas furnished.

Coyote nodded. “Aye. And are not both answers true?”

“Aye,” Milas concurred.

“But my name is Daidam,” she said forcefully.

Coyote smiled. “Ah, but that was not the question.” Daidam looked at Milas who was nodding in understanding. “Seek your answers wisely, young Daidam,” he said then walked to the back of the hut and curled into a ball against the base of the wall. “The eve is upon. It is time for sleep.”

Milas stood and walked to the cot where she settled on her side and waited for Daidam to join her, there being only the one cot in the room. When Daidam lay down beside her, Milas snuggled against her and was soon taken over by sleep. It was much later before Daidam finally relented and forced confusing thoughts from her mind.

Milas woke to find she was alone in the hut. She swung her legs off the cot and stood then took a few moments to stretch her tired muscles before going outside in search of the others. After leaving the hut, she walked toward the orchard but it didn’t take her long to see that no one was among the apple trees. She turned around and saw Daidam carrying something out from the second hut.

“Good morn,” Daidam greeted Milas as she walked up. “Did you rest well?”

“Aye. Did you not?”

Daidam smiled. “I wake early. A habit my mother did not greet with pleasure.”

Milas grinned. “My mother was discontent of my habit to sleep too long. Where is Coyote?”

“I know not. He was gone when I woke.”

“What are those?” Milas asked of the objects Daidam held.

Daidam passed one to Milas. “A pouch of some sort. I found many inside.”

Milas examined the item. It was as long as her arm was from elbow to fingertips with a pocket just as deep and wide. A strap was sewn into the top of each end of the pocket. It was a simple design not unlike the ones used in Arhdahl to carry items when traveling from one fortress to another. Yet it was different. “The material is unknown to me.”

“Aye. It is thick… strong…” Daidam said as she gave her pouch a good tug. “Not like any in Arhdahl…” She paused, concentrating on a long forgotten memory. “Except one...”

“You have seen thus before?”

“It was many summers past. I was helping Instructor gather the study scrolls after lessons had ended when Thoralf entered.”

“Mother? What did she say?”

“I know not. Their words were soft and not directed to me.”

“What happened?”

“Instructor went to the shelves where the scrolls are kept. From the top shelf, placed so none could see, he pulled a pouch. The material seemed like this.”

“What did it carry?”

“I know not. Its shape was not the same- the pocket was covered by a flap tied to keep hidden that held inside. He gave the pouch to Thoralf.”

“What did Mother do?”

“She carried the pouch to where I stood. She said it held tales from an ancient time, tales that one day I would learn of their truth. Thoralf warned me not to betray what I had seen to any, least the Council hear and be displeased.”

“I do not understand. Are we not taught the ancient stories of Arhdahl in our lessons?”

“Aye.”

“Are not the stories true?”

“Instructor speaks truth.”

“Then why would Council show displeasure for speaking of them?”

“I know only of the warning on Thoralf’s lips.”

Milas nervously fingered the thick material in her hands. “What do you think was inside?”

Daidam carefully considered the question. “I know not,” she finally said.

Ah, young Daidam, Coyote thought, sitting on his haunches just inside the shadowy forest behind the huts. You do not take lessons easily. It was not asked what you knew but what you thought.

“Come,” Daidam told Milas. “We should fill the pouches with apples. We know not when Coyote will return and choose to continue our journey.”

CHAPTER NINE

 “You choose to carry such burdens?” Coyote asked walking up to where Daidam and Milas stood under one of the apple trees with bulging pouches hanging off their shoulders.

“We must carry food,” Daidam said plucking another apple from a branch.

“I tell food is plentiful in Airini.”

 “Aye. It is here in the orchard. But what of where we travel next?”

“Food is plentiful throughout Airini. But carry your burdens if you so choose.”

Daidam closed the flap on her pouch then adjusted its weight on her shoulder. “Where do we travel this day?”

“Where do you wish?”

Daidam looked to the edge of the orchard. “Are their more huts?”

Coyote nodded. “Come,” he said turning around to lead Daidam and Milas back into the forest.

After walking for some distance, Coyote left the forest. Daidam and Milas followed, their steps slowing as they looked around. They were standing on the rim of a large bowl shaped valley that was many times larger than the Fortress of Alasdair. The valley sides were covered in hip high stalks, the heads of grain swaying with the breeze. The center of the valley was split by a river, its crystal blue waters filling a wide channel that snaked lazily between clusters of huts along its banks. A wooden bridge spanned the gorge, allowing movement from one bank to the other.

“I shall meet you in the village.” Coyote told them then disappeared into the sea of grain stalks.

Daidam tried to follow his movement with her eyes but it was impossible. “Grain growing free,” she said as she started down the gentle slope. “How different Airhini is from Arhdahl.” With her eyes focused on the huts, she did not notice the change in the ground and her boot caught on an unseen obstacle causing her to stumble. Milas reached out, grabbing Daidam’s arm and steadying her. “I am fine,” Daidam told her but nodded a silent thanks for her assistance. She took a cautious step then stopped when she noticed her boot rested on a shallow rise of earth. Kneeling, she pushed the grain stalks aside to reveal the rounded mounds of what had once been a deep furrow in the soft ground. “Milas, look. This grain has been planted. Just like the apple trees.”

Milas placed a hand on Daidam’s shoulder and bent over to see. “But…” She straightened and turned to study the empty village. “There are none to do so.”

Daidam stood. “Come. Let’s continue.” When Milas nodded, she took a careful stride forward.

Unable to see the neglected furrows below the overgrown stalks, it took a few steps before they were comfortable with the pattern of distance between the rows and could again walk easily. As they approached the village, the slope flattened and the grain fields were left behind.

“These are different,” Milas noted. The ground between the grain fields and the village was divided into evenly sized and spaced rectangular sections. Like the grain fields, the smaller gardens were overgrown and showed little evidence of ever being tended for some time. She knelt beside one of the gardens and pulled a clump of frilly green stems from the ground. Attached to the greenery was a long orange object round in shape that tapered down from its top to bottom. “What is this?”

“That is a carrot,” Coyote said as she trotted up to the pair.

“Did I hear someone speak of carrots?”

“Horse,” Coyote greeted the newcomer. “Many eves have passed since I have seen you.”

“Aye,” Horse agreed as she plodded out of the grain field. “Now, about those carrots.”

Daidam and Milas were startled by the newcomer who was quite large. Horse walked on four strong legs that supported a barrel shaped body and thick neck covered in the long hairs of its mane supported an angular head with two sharp pointy ears that constantly turned this way and that as he listened to all around him. Horse had extremely powerful looking muscles that flexed under his dark brown hide but it was his two soft brown eyes that drew Daidam.

“May I?” Horse asked, dropping his head down to collect the carrot Milas held. The soft hairs of his muzzle brushed against the palm of her hand as his lips gently retrieved the carrot. “These are the two-leggeds we have heard told?” he asked Coyote after enjoying the snack.

“Aye.”

“You eat this?” Daidam asked holding up another carrot she had just pulled from the ground.

“I find carrots to be quite tasty,” Horse answered. “Much more so than grass. But few feel the same. Coyote does not.”

“No, I find them lacking.”

Horse chuckled then dropped his head and pulled another carrot free. The crisp carrot crunched loudly as he chewed. “I will not complain as the fewer to eat the more for me to enjoy. You should try one,” he told Daidam and Milas.

Milas pulled a carrot free. Brushing it free of the dirt clinging to it, she raised it to her mouth and took a bite of the greenery then spit it out immediately, the bitter taste lingering on her tongue.

Coyote laughed. “As I told you, the taste is not pleasant.”

“You ate the wrong end. Try the other,” Horse instructed.

Milas shook her head.

“You cannot judge until you try,” Horse told her.

Daidam slowly lifted her carrot to her mouth and bit off a small piece. Cautiously, she chewed the morsel. Then she took a larger bite. “It is not unpleasant,” she told Milas.

“You see, Coyote, not all feel as you,” Horse said.

Daidam walked out of a hut carrying an unwieldy basket. Since leaving Horse to his plot of carrots, she and Milas had been wandering among the huts. “What use is this?” she asked Coyote after setting the basket on the ground. It was made from reeds woven into a cylindrical shape. One end had an opening she could just fit her hand through while the other end was solid, as were its sides. A coil of fiber, the same that made the cots soft to sleep on, was tied to the middle of the basket.

Milas walked out from an adjacent hut. “That is an odd basket. What does it carry?”

“It is empty. Coyote, do you know of its use?” Daidam asked again, as she examined the oddly shaped basket.

“No.”

“I do not understand,” Milas said. “How do you not know the use of what you make?”

“Your question has no answer,” Coyote said.

“How can a question have no answer?” Daidam asked.

“When you ask it of one who cannot know.”

Daidam thought for a moment. Then she stood and carried the basket back inside the hut. When she reappeared, she walked to Coyote and sat cross legged in front of him. “Speak true.”

Coyote nodded.

“The huts are of your making?”

“No.”

“Wolf?”

“No.

“Badger?” Milas asked, sitting beside Daidam.

“No.”

“The apple grove was planted?” Daidam continued her questioning.

“Aye.”

“By your making?”

“No.”

“The grain was planted?”

“Aye.”

“By your making?”

“No.”

Daidam rubbed her chin while she mulled over Coyote’s answers. “They exist yet none in Airini have need of them?”

“Aye.”

“I do not understand. Why make what you do not need?” Milas asked.

“Your questions are best directed to others.”

“What others? Badger? Wolf?”

Daidam shifted uneasily. “The Council.”

“Daidam, what do you speak? How can the Council know of these things? Of Airini?”

Coyote sat quietly.

“We must return,” Daidam told Milas.

“Hear your words. It is forbidden. To do so will bring death.”

“We must find a way. We must return. We must question the Council.”

“Of what?”

Daidam twisted around to face Milas. “Of why? Why do we live up there?” she asked pointing to the butte towering over the tops of the forest trees. “Why must we scrap furrows into the rock to grow our crops? Why dig holes into the rock to shelter us? Why is it forbidden to look upon Airini?”

“How are we to return? There is no path.”

“Then I will climb the cliffs.”

“Daidam, here your words.”

Daidam took Milas’ hands into her own to tenderly hold them. “You need not come. Stay. Here you find shelter. Here you find food. I shall go. If there is dishonor brought to Arhdahl, then it be mine.”

Milas shook her head. “Your questions are mine, Daidam. Many times when I sat in the Forbidden Zone and gazed down on Airini, I thought them. Why so much when Arhdahl had so little? I will go with you.”

“It will not bring pleasure.”

Milas nodded. “I will go.”

Daidam looked at Coyote who had remained silent. “We must return to Arhdahl. Will you lead us?”

“It is far.”

“Aye. We shall follow.”

Coyote smiled at the determined look on Daidam’s face. “Perhaps, the journey can be made shorter,” he said as he glanced over his shoulder. “Horse, join us,” he called then waited for Horse to plod over to the trio. “Are you fit for travel?”

“Aye.”

“Would you mind a small burden?”

“It has been many years since such a favor was asked.”

“And granted.”

“Aye. And granted.

“Will it be so again?”

Horse eyed Milas and Daidam who were listening curiously to his exchange with Coyote. He bopped his head. “Aye. It is granted. When do we travel?”

Coyote looked into the sky. “If we go now, we can reach the butte by fall of eve.”

“Then let us not wait. Come, two-leggeds, climb onto back and I shall carry you to the butte.”

“Climb onto your back?” Milas asked, startled by the request.

“Aye. My back is broad. I can carry you with ease.”

“Your back is quite high,” Daidam said. “How are we to reach it?”

“Quickly, young Daidam,” Coyote urged. “Bring a chair from the hut to aid you.”

Daidam jumped to her feet and raced inside. When she reappeared, she carried a chair which she set down beside Horse. “Our pouches,” she said and turned back to where the pouches of apples rested on the ground next to the hut’s doorway.

“You have no need for them,” Coyote stopped her. “Horse waits.”

For an instant, Daidam considered ignoring Coyote and retrieving the pouches. Then she stepped onto the chair and threw her leg over Horse’s back. Once she was sure she wasn’t going to fall off, she reached a hand down to the waiting Milas and helped her up. She felt Milas immediately wrap her arms around her waist.

“Take a firm grip of my mane,” Horse told Daidam.

“We go,” Coyote said.

Horse followed Coyote at a walk until they passed the grain field then he quickened his gait.

Daidam had both fists tightened around Horse’s mane, determined not to be unseated as they raced through the forest.

CHAPTER TEN

 Daidam was relieved when she felt a change in Horse’s gait. Her arms and thighs were aching from holding onto his mane and from being pressed against his sides. And she was sore around her waist and ribs from being held so tightly by Milas seated behind her on Horse’s broad back.

After leaving the village, Horse had galloped most of the distance and was just as relieved as Daidam to see the trees thinning. He slowed as he approached the clearing between the forest and the base of the butte. Coyote, panting heavily, had stopped at a small creek that followed a crooked path around the trees and Horse trotted up beside him. “You may get down,” he told his riders.

Daidam helped Milas slide down Horse’s side then she swung her leg over his neck and dropped to ground. Her stiff muscles protested the activity and she had to lean against Horse to keep herself from falling.

Coyote looked up, water dripping off her chin. “You did well, two-legged. Most fall off when they first attempt to ride.” He grinned as Daidam struggled to control her wobbly legs.

Milas was concerned that even though Horse had dropped his head to drink from the creek Daidam continued to clutch onto his side. “What harm has Horse brought upon you?”

“My legs are trembling,” Daidam answered. “I fear I can no longer stand.”

“Your legs quiver but no harm has befallen you. Walk and make them strong again,” Coyote said.

Milas slipped her arm around Daidam’s waist. “Come. Take hold of me. I will aid you.”

“Your hold is strong. I fear I bear its wounds.”

Milas looked at Daidam in alarm. “I have brought you harm?”

“Aye. But you knew not.”

“Two-legged!” Daidam and Milas turned to see Coyote glaring at them. “Your journey has begun not. Are your injuries such you wish to abandon it?”

“No.”

“Then stand.” Daidam did as Coyote commanded. “Walk.”

Daidam took a tentative step. Then another. And another. She quickly discovered that, although her muscles were stiff and sore, each step was easier than the last. She walked several strides from the creek then turned and return to the others. “I am ready. Let us go to the butte so I might climb its cliffs,” she said determinedly.

Coyote chuckled. “Drink, young Daidam. Then we shall continue.”

Daidam knelt at the edge of the creek, valiantly fighting back groans of pain as she cupped her hands together and dipped them into the water.

Milas knelt beside her. “Are you well?”

“Aye,” Daidam assured her through gritted teeth.

Coyote led the foursome out of the forest. Daidam was surprised to see the location was familiar to her. “Why do you lead us here?”

“What be wrong, Daidam?” Milas asked.

Daidam pointed to the seemingly solid cliff face. “I stepped from the path there only to find it was no more when I looked again. This is not the way for us to return to Arhdahl.”

“If you are to climb the cliff, why bring doubt as to where you place your first step?” Coyote asked.

“The bones. I shall not wish to cross the bones,” Daidam answered remembering the whirlwind that had slammed into the rock when she had first entered the bone field.

“Then choose another way.”

Daidam turned to walk along the edge of the bone field seeking its end.

“Shall I follow?” Milas asked Coyote.

“The decision is not mine. But know you will end from which you began.” Milas considered Coyote’s answer then hurried after Daidam.

“Their will is strong,” Horse said when Daidam and Milas disappeared around the foot of the butte.

“As it must be.”

“We wait?”

“Aye.”

“The bones have no end,” Milas said after she and Daidam had walked for some distance.

Daidam stopped. She looked back in the direction they had come and then turned and looked into the distance. “This many… I…”

“It is difficult to fathom,” Milas whispered. “So many… Why?”

“That is for the Council to answer. Come, we must find a way to the cliff without disturbing the bones.”

“If we cannot?”

Daidam started to answer then stopped. “Come,” she said and quickened her steps.

Badger rumbled out of the forest and into the clearing where Horse and Coyote were resting in the shade of the butte. “You serve Airhini well, Horse,” she said as she joined them.

“The touch of the two-legged has been missed.”

“You have restored its memory.”

“Then my duty is done for this day.”

“Aye.” Badger smiled. “Return to your carrots.”

“I am to stay?” Coyote asked as Horse trotted back into the forest.

“Aye.”

“Is it to be known to but two?”

“Fox joins us.”

Coyote nodded. He had sensed the closeness of Fox who had yet to appear. “She waits in the forest?”

 “She sits beside you.” Badger laughed when Coyote jumped to his feet and spun around looking for Fox.

“Where? Where does she hide?”

Fox stretched leisurely, her back arching as her body lengthened with the action. She had been waiting in the clearing since early in the morn and had felt no particular need to reveal herself to Coyote and Horse when they arrived with the two-leggeds. “I hide not. I simply rest and wait,” she said as she rose from between a pair of small boulders near the bone field.

Coyote gazed suspiciously at Fox. “You rest with the sacred bones?”

“I rest in the shade.”

“They come near,” Badger said, interrupting the exchange between Fox and Coyote.

“Daidam, look. Coyote and Badger have come to us.”

“No. We have returned to where we began.”

“We have walked far. Has the butte been ringed?”

“Aye. Yet, the path we seek is not to be found.”

“Do not doubt your knowledge,” Badger told Daidam as she and Milas stopped before her.

Daidam dropped to the ground to sit in front of Badger. “Speak true. The field of Winged is vast. Why so many and yet no more?”

“Your question speaks of the heart within you, Daidam. At one time, the Winged filled the sky, their sharp eyes keeping watch over Airini. Then a darkness fell and the Winged flew no more.”

“A darkness?”

“Aye. Unlike any known within the Realm before or after.”

“What brought this darkness?”

Badger sighed. “The answer is not for me to reveal.”

“Then we go. May we cross the Winged without harm?” Daidam asked as she pushed herself off the ground.

“Wait,” Badger told her then waited for Daidam to settle back down in front of her. “Your return to the butte will not be welcomed. You must trust in only one you find there.”

“Name this one.”

“I cannot. But you will know.”

“What will guide me?”

Badger smiled. “Your heart, young Daidam. Your heart. Now, go. Cross the sacred bones of the Winged. You will find your path.”

Milas waited for Daidam to stand before asking Badger, “Will we return to Airini?”

“The choice is for you to make.”

“Come, Milas. Eve approaches.” Daidam led Milas to the field of bones. She located the rocks she had used to safely cross the field before. “Watch where I place my boots,” she told Milas. “Do as I do and nothing more.” When Milas nodded her understanding, Daidam placed a booted foot on the first stone. It did not take long before she was standing on the small patch of empty ground at the foot of the butte.

“They are gone,” Milas said in surprise when she safely crossed the bone field then look over it for Badger and Coyote. “And the stones are no more,” she exclaimed as the stepping stones were reclaimed by the bones surrounding them.

“We go forward, not back. The path has returned,” Daidam said, standing before a familiar gap in the cliff face.

“What are we to find, Daidam?”

“I know not.” Daidam thought for a moment before searching the ground around them. When she spotted her spear, she walked to it. “I dropped this,” she said lifting the spear, “yet until this moment I have no need of it.” She rotated the spear in her hands, examining the long shaft and its sharp point. “Airini was new to me, a land like none I knew. I walked with those I did not know. I spoke as did they. Yet, fear did not fill me. Now, I prepare to return to Arhdahl, home to my father and mother. And to their fathers and mothers. And I fear.”

A sudden puff of wind blew across the bone field disturbing a single feather from its rest. Daidam and Milas watched as the feather floated toward them then lightly settled at their feet.

Milas stooped to pick it up. “Badger spoke of one we are to trust.”

“Aye.”

Milas slipped the feather’s shaft into her belt leaving the downy plume visible. “Let us find that one.”

Daidam nodded then led Milas onto the rocky path. They did not go far when they heard their names being called. They turned to see Fox trotting up to them.

“Listen to my words,” Fox told them. “Do not approach Arhdahl until after the fall of eve. Seek out the Crone. She will guide you.” The she turned and trotted back the way she had come.

Daidam and Milas watched until Fox could no longer be seen. Then they continued on their journey up the cliff face.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 None could remember a time that the Crone had not been of the Realm, yet none could name the House of her birth. And none knew what power guided the blind ancient in her travels from fortress to fortress. None dared to question. She was not of the House of Alasdair, as she had not been born to the house; yet unless called to another fortress, the Crone made her home in a small room separate from the labyrinth of stone passages that connected the rows of underground barracks and living quarters of Alasdair Fortress. A lone ramp, its rock surface worn smooth by countless shuffled steps, provided the Crone access to her solitary room. And unlike all other rooms in the Realm, hers was secluded behind a solid wood door that provided the aged seer refuge from curious eyes.

The Crone sat on a stone bench in front of the hearth, the fire warming her aching bones. Unlike every other night of her existence, she was not alone. “The time nears.”

“Aye.”

“Do you fear?”

“My bones grow weary and my heart beats with longing. Does he still wait?”

The Crone nodded. “Aye.”

“Then I fear not.”

The Crone leaned forward reaching for the unadorned staff lying at her feet. Lifting it, she placed one end in the fire then pulled it free as soon as the wood burst into flame. She held it for the other to take. “The torch must guide them.” The Crone sat listening to the fading footsteps as her visitor walked up the ramp to the surface of the bluff. When she no longer could hear the sound she sighed then turned back to the warm fire, the barest hint of a smile easing across her aged face.

A small sliver of moon cast a pale light that did little to penetrate the darkness. The path had ended abruptly just shy of the butte’s surface and Daidam, after climbing the remaining distance, hung precariously from the top of the cliff. Her boots gained purchase on the stone face and she inched upward pausing every few heartbeats to listen for the sound of boots striking rock— a warning that a sentry was close. She heard nothing. Slowly, she raised her head until she could see over the lip of the cliff. Her eyes scanned the fortress then she released her grip and dropped down to where Milas waited.

“What of the guards?” Milas anxiously whispered wrapping her arms around Daidam to prevent her falling off the narrow path.

“One walks beyond the fortress gate,” Daidam whispered after regaining her balance. “Another returns to the barracks.”

“And the Crone?”

“A torch brightens her door.”

“It is odd.”

“Aye,” Daidam agreed. Never had she known the blind Crone to require her path to be lit.

“Do we go?”

“Aye. Fox told to seek the Crone.”

“What of the guard?”

Daidam did not answer. Instead, she looked up to the lip of the cliff. “Quickly, before the guard returns,” she said turning to climb the cliff once again. Using the same foot- and handholds she had used before, she clambered up the cliff and pulled herself over the top.

Following Daidam’s lead, Miles scrambled over the lip of the cliff almost as quickly then crouched in the darkness, her eyes seeking out the night guard and spotting the sentry on the opposite side of the butte.

“The torch dims,” Daidam said alarmed, the bright flame faltering as she watched.

“Go.”

Daidam set off running, bent forward at the waist with her eyes focused on the flickering torch that marked the head of the Crone’s ramp, otherwise unseen in the night’s darkness. Pebbles scattered beneath their boots, the sound of them ricocheting off one another seeming loud to her ears but she did not slow her pace until she neared the depleted torch and its barely discernible glow. She skidded to a stop then scurried down the ramp to hide in its deep shadows.

Milas skidded to a stop beside Daidam, panting heavily. “The guard nears,” she whispered. “We must wake the Crone.”

“We must wait,” Daidam whispered back.

“Will we not be seen?” Milas asked as the sound of boots scuffing against stone announced the guard’s approach.

“The torch has burned out.”

“What of the moon?” Milas asked glancing about at the faint shadows cast even though the moon was but a sliver of its true self.

“The guard protects against threats from without not from within the fortress,” Daidam reminded Milas then spun in surprise when the door at the base of the ramp creaked open.

“Who disturbs my rest?” a voice demanded.

Daidam felt Milas stiffened in alarm beside her. “It is the Crone,” she reassured Milas before turning to face the door. “I am Daidam of the House of Alasdair.”

“And the other?”

Milas stepped forward. “I am Milas, daughter of Thoralf, House of Alasdair.”

The door was pushed open. “Come.”

Daidam could see little inside the Crone’s room except for flickering shadows caused by the hearth’s fire. She grabbed Milas’ hand and led her down the ramp. As soon as they entered the room, the door creaked shut behind them.

“The guard nears,” Milas said as the Crone urged them closer to the hearth.

“Aye. Fear not, his steps shall not vary. Go, warm yourselves.” Daidam settled on the floor in front of the fire making room for Milas to join her as the Crone returned to her place on the bench. “What of the Captain?” she asked.

“He breathes not,” Milas said sadly when Daidam remained silent.

“You fell at the point of his spear. How be it your breath was not taken?”

“I know not.”

“And Daidam? You fell into the Abyss.”

“No. A path appeared to mine eyes,” Daidam told the Crone.

“A path?”

“Aye.”

“And this path returned you to Alasdair?”

“Aye.”

“Do you not know what awaits you?”

“Aye.”

“Yet, you chance your life?”

“We must,” Milas said. “In Airhini…”

The Crone smiled. “You speak the name of the Realm below.”

“You know of it?” Daidam asked in surprise.

“Aye.”

“Have you been the Realm?” Milas asked.

The Crone smiled and nodded.

“Yet, you never speak thus,” Daidam said.

“It is forbidden, is it not?”

“It seems much is forbidden,” Milas said quietly.

“Why do you return?”

“To seek truth,” Milas said determinedly.

“Who do you question?”

“The Counsel,” Daidam said just as determinedly.

The Crone leaned her head back and closed her eyes. For several heartbeats the room was silent, even the wood of the fire seemed to burn without sound as the seer entered a trance. Finally, the Crone tilted her head forward. “Food and drink awaits you there,” she pointed across the room to a table where a pitcher and two mugs sat beside a tray covered by a cloth. “Then rest. Your journey begins at morn,” she said then returned to her trance state.

Daidam and Milas looked at each other in confusion. “Will she guide us?” Milas asked.

“I know not.”

“What is—”

Daidam raised her hand, placing two fingers against Milas’ lips. “No more questions. It is late, the morn will come soon. Let us do as the Crone told.” Daidam withdrew her hand after Milas nodded. She pushed herself upright then reached down to help Milas do the same.

Thoralf tugged on the small boulder that concealed the nook, a hole carved into the stone wall in the back of her quarters. Her thoughts returned to the night so long ago when she and another had strained to carry the rock from the forbidden zone to her quarters. Pulling the hidden item out of the niche, she smiled and reverently placed her hand atop it. “Soon, my husband,” she said picking up the heavy object and cradling it in her arms. “Soon.”

The sun had not yet risen when the Crone woke Daidam and Milas. “It is time,” she said as she nudged the pair.

Daidam sat up and threw off the blanket covering her then she forced herself up onto her feet, her muscles protesting after having spent the night sleeping on the cold stone floor. She took time to stretch her sore back as she watched Milas struggle awake.

“It is yet dark,” Milas observed as she stood.

“Aye. It be best we leave the fortress before morn breaks,” the Crone said as her hands felt about in a niche at the back of the room.

“Will the guards not stop us?” Daidam asked.

The Crone pulled free a folded piece of cloth then shook loose its tight folds to reveal two hooded cloaks. She carried the cloaks back across the room. “Keep your heads bowed,” she said as she held the cloaks out to Daidam and Milas, who lifted them over their heads letting them settle on their shoulders. “Speak not. Do as I say and no more. Come, it is time.” The Crone walked to the door. Taking hold of the handle, she strained to pull it open then she led her charges up the ramp.

Daidam looked about when they reached the surface of the butte. Except for the sentry, none had risen from the fortress quarters to greet the day. Motion caught her eye and she turned to see a cloaked figure emerge from a ramp and walk directly toward the gate.

“Quickly,” the Crone urged as she shuffled across the butte directly toward the groove marking the Fortress boundary.

“Do we not pass through the gate?” Daidam asked.

“Question not,” the Crone snapped. “Hurry.”

“Halt! Who leaves the Fortress?”

“You dare to question Thoralf?”

“What carry you?” the guard asked nervously. “What hides under your cloak?”

“I carry not but that I need on my journey.”

“You would leave the Fortress unguarded, Thoralf.”

“What do I fear? Are there threats to Arhdahl I know not?”

“Only the Abyss threatens the Realm.”

“I am of the House of Alasdair, I know not of the Abyss. Why do you stop me from my journey?”

“You may pass.”

Thoralf nodded before proceeding through the fortress gate.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The top of the butte was an open expanse of rock unbroken except for the fortresses located at each end and spread a day’s walk along its sides and a lone stand of pine trees, a small remnant of the forest that had once covered the center of the butte. The routes between the fortresses were unguarded, only those who approached a fortress gate would be challenged to state their purpose. Yet, none of the Realm of Arhdahl would be denied entry.

Her staff tapping against the stone, the Crone shuffled along an unmarked path with unwavering steps as she led Daidam and Milas toward the far end of the butte. Since leaving Alasdair Fortress, they had traveled day and night, seeing none venturing between fortresses except for a solitary cloaked figure that stayed half a day’s walk before them.

“The Arhdahl Fortress nears,” Milas said.

The Crone halted her steady pace and settled onto the ground. “We reach the gate at morn.” Daidam knelt beside the aged seer while Milas walked a few steps closer to their destination. Daidam saw that the Crone’s unseeing eyes were focused on her heart. “Why do you doubt?”

“I doubt not,” Daidam protested.

“Your thoughts of Airhini cause you disquiet?”

“My words speak true.”

“Tis not words you fear.”

Daidam looked past the crone to the fortress then her eyes drifted to Milas.

“You doubt her resolve?”

“She is yet a child.”

“A child no more.”

“We should go,” Milas called back to them. “The moon drops.”

The Crone struggled to her feet.

“You are yet tired,” Daidam said as she helped the Crone stand. “We should rest.”

The Crone leaned heavily on her staff then reached out to place a hand on Daidam’s shoulder. “The end of my journey is near,” she said gently. “We continue.”

Arhdahl Fortress was not unlike the other fortresses. Surrounded by a groove scraped into the butte’s surface, a rock gate guarded the only gap in the otherwise endless channel. Quarters were underground as were the storehouses and barracks. But unlike the others, in the center of Arhdahl Fortress a ring of boulders, each larger than the tallest man stood, encircled a stone platform. It was here that the Council met. And it was here that any member of the Realm could come to seek an audience with the fourteen men and women from the House of Oneida, the oldest house in the Realm.

“Many greet the morn,” Daidam said as they approached the Arhdahl Fortress where House members could be seen emerging from their underground quarters.

“Aye,” Milas said pulling her hood close around her face.

“Many feel the draw of the morn.”

A pair of guards lowered their spears and crossed the shafts across the opening as the trio reached the gate. “Who be you?”

“I am Crone.”

“And the others?”

“They travel with me to learn my ways.”

“Yet they hide their faces.”

“Aye. From those who matter not.”

“You mock me, Crone?”

The Crone smiled. “Have you powers I know not?” she asked, her tone hardening. The guards glanced nervously at the Crone than at each other. “I come to speak to the Council,” she said in a strong voice that carried across the Fortress drawing the attention of all who heard. “Clear my way.” The guards stepped to the side of the gate and raised the tips of their spears into the air as the Crone shuffled forward. Daidam and Milas quickly followed.

Micah stepped to the center of the platform, his Council sash hanging from his right shoulder and tied at his left hip. Behind him, the other similarly adorned council members formed the shape of a moon crescent across the length of the platform. Micah looked out at the handful of people mingling outside the circle of boulders. “The morn welcomes,” he said in a strong voice. “Any who seek truth, come forward.” When no one responded, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “We are not to be tested this morn,” he told the others.

“You speak too quickly, Micah,” Kala said as he spotted the Crone making her way toward them.

“Who comes forward?” Micah asked, turning back around to see.

Kala broke from the others to join Micah. “The Crone. She travels not alone,” he said in a low and concerned voice.

“Who joins her?” Micah asked.

“I know not. They are hooded.” The pair glanced nervously at the growing numbers emerging from their underground quarters and hurrying to join those already accompanying the Crone. “Never have so many greeted the morn,” Kala said anxiously.

“What message can she bring?” Micah whispered as the Crone shuffled inside the ring of boulders to stand in front of the platform. “You seek truth, Crone?” he hesitantly asked.

“I bring two who seek thus.”

“Are they to remain concealed?”

Daidam reached up to push back her hood but before she could, Milas stepped forward and addressed Micah.

“I am Milas, daughter of Thoralf, House of Alasdair. I seek truth.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd at the pronouncement.

“You speak not true. Daughter of Thoralf is no more,” Micah proclaimed. “She violated the Forbidden Zone and was put to death by the Captain of the Guard of Alasdair Fortress.” His voice rose as he tried to quiet the increasing whispers. “The unspoken name fell into the Abyss where her body rots.”

“Aye. I fell. But, as you can see, I now stand before you,” Milas declared.

“What enchanting do you perform, Crone?” Micah asked.

“Milas speaks true,” Daidam said as she threw off her cloak. “I am Daidam, House of Alasdair. I followed into the Abyss where my father fell.”

“Crone, stop your tricks. These words are not true.”

“I enchant none,” the Crone told the growing crowd pressing together around her. “Daidam and Miles speak true.”

“You’ve been to the Abyss?” The question rose out of the sea of voices.

“What dangers did you see?”

“How do you breathe?”

“Tell us—”

“Cease!” Micah called out. “The Abyss is forbidden. It is not to be spoken.”

Milas leaped onto the platform and defiantly faced Micah. “Why do you speak as if the Abyss is to be feared?”

“It is true.”

“No!” Daidam shouted as she jumped up to join Milas. But instead of addressing the council, she faced those who surrounded the platform. “The Abyss is not a void as the Council has told. It is a land of nourishment. Those who live there call it Airhini,” she continued. “They welcomed us. They shared their plenty with us.”

“Of what do you speak?” The question was shouted above the other voices raised in doubt.

“They do not speak true,” Micah shouted.

Milas confronted Micah. “Speak true! Tell us why we live on this barren butte when before we lived below.”

Micah shook his head vehemently. “What nonsense do you speak? Never have we stepped into the Abyss. Never!”

“You speak not true. We saw.”

“What did you see?” someone shouted.

“Trees to build shelter. Water to drink and nourish. Ground soft for seeds to grow. And food… so much that none would go hungry.”

“No! Enough!” Micah screamed. “Guards, the Realm is threatened.”

The Crone raised her staff high above her head then drove it down into the stone ground. “It is the prophesy!” The word rolled across the butte in a thunderous tone like none ever heard before.

Those standing on and before the platform stood unable to move or speak. Those who remained underground were driven to their knees by the vociferous clamor reverberating from the stone that enclosed them. They clasped their hand over their ears in a futile attempt to block the deafening sound. “Come. You must hear,” the Crone’s pronouncement was as clear as if she had been standing beside them and they rose to their feet then hurried along the maze of corridors to the surface of the butte.

“It cannot be,” Micah shouted when the Crone’s echoing proclamation died out.

“You must speak true,” the Crone challenged Micah, her voice so strong and menancing it made many cringe in fear.

“None know of that time,” Micah protested feeble.

“I know.”

Milas turned at the sound of the familiar voice at the back of the otherwise silent gathering. “Mother?”

Thoralf made her way forward, the House members parting to create a clear path for her. She stepped up onto the platform, taking a moment to smile lovingly at Milas before addressing the others. “I am Thoralf,” she announced proudly. “Wife of Shwane, leader of the Two-Leggeds of the Realm of Airhini.”

“Mother? What is that you carry?” Milas asked.

Thoralf gently laid a hand on Milas’ shoulder. “It is a story of long ago, my daughter. It is the story of your true father, written in his own words.”

“What of Ceancey?”

“He be my husband… today. But not your father.”

Milas looked into her mother’s eyes and Badger’s words came back to her, You must trust in only one. She smiled. “I trust your words, Mother. Tell us of my father.”

Thoralf nodded. “I tell the story of the dawn of the darkness,” she said opening the book she had carried from Alasdair Fortress.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 Many, many, many generations before in the Realm of Airhini…

During the night, many had arrived from the villages and burrows of Airhini, gathering in the village square until they filled the expanse and more. They parted willingly to provide a clear path for Shwane, leader of the Two-Legged, as he and Thoralf left their hut and strode purposely toward the wood platform at the center of the square where Badger, leader of the Four-Legged, waited anxiously. Thoralf did not follow Shwane up the wooden steps but took a place with the others standing around the base of the dais.

Shwane greeted Badger with a solemn nod of his head then turned to face those crowded into the square and waited for them to quiet before speaking. “For all time, the Two-Legged, Four-Legged, and Winged have lived in peace, toiling together to provide for all. For all time, the Two-Legged and Four-Legged have lived in the valley protecting Airhini from below while the Winged lived on the butte and protected Airhini from above. For all time, Airhini has provided shelter and nourishment in return. This morn we wake to find the peace of the Realm broken by one who speaks of change in the order.” A nervous wave of murmurs washed over those gathered in the square and Shwane waited for them to subside. “He who seeks to have voice, come forward.”

Thoralf turned her head when a Two-Legged standing beside her moved toward the dais steps. “For the Realm, consider your words,” she told the man who paused to respond.

“It is for the Realm I speak,” he said before continuing. Several in the crowd called out words of support while many others cried out in protest as the man climbed the steps.

Shwane raised his arms asking for silence. “You seek voice?” he asked when the crowd had quieted.

“Aye.”

“Name yourself.”

“I am Phante.”

“Speak”

The man stepped to the front of the dais to address the gathering. “Shwane speaks true. For all time, Airhini has seen one order. But, I ask, is it not time for another?” He pointed to the top of the butte towering above the valley floor. “I ask why the Two-Legged live not atop the butte?”

Shwane motioned for the shouted protests to cease. “I protest his words as do you. But to silence his words means the silence of all,” he told the protestors. “The butte is home to the Winged,” he said directly to Phante. “It is the order of the Realm.”

“The Two-Legged toil in ways others do not. Does that not deserve reward?”

“All toil for the Realm. None deserve reward.”

“No! It is the Two-Legged who build the huts and storehouses. It is Two-Legged who tend the orchards and gardens. It is Two-Legged that fish the rivers and lakes. The Four-Legged and the Winged reap from our toil yet share not of it.”

“The toil of which you speak is for the Realm.” Shouts of agreement erupted from many in the crowd and Shwane patiently waited for them to quiet. “You disrespect our brothers and sisters,” he said. “Badger finds fertile ground where seeds will grow. Gopher digs furrows. Horse carries water to nourish the crops and carries the grain to the storehouses. All serve the Realm.”

“What of the Winged? How do they serve?”

“They travel great distance on the wind to bring us warning of storms.”

“Which we can see for ourselves when the sky darkens,” Phante scoffed.

“They bring news from other villages.”

“Do we not speak? Do we not carry such words from village to village?”

“The Winged serve the Realm,” Shwane asserted.

Phante shook his head. “No! They do little but float on the sky. They serve not the Realm!” he shouted. “Not as Two-Legged serve.”

“You speak not true,” Shwane protested just as loudly.

“You decide,” Phante spoke directly to the crowd. “Was not a call sent throughout the Realm for all to gather this morn? Two-Legged. Four-Legged. And the Winged.”

“Aye,” came the collective response.

“Yet the Winged do not appear.” He waited as thousands of heads turned in search of those missing. “They dishonor the Realm.”

Shwane felt the mood of the crowd shifting.

“I challenge,” Phante said in a loud clear voice that carried to all who had gathered in the square. “I challenge Shwane.”

“For what purpose?” Shwane asked.

“I will lead the Two-Legged to a new order. No longer shall the Winged look down on those who toil. No longer shall Two-Legged look up to what is not theirs to claim. Will you follow?” he shouted his question to the crowd.

“No!” Shwane protested but his voice was lost in the surge of voices agreeing with Phante.

“I claim the butte for those who serve most… the Two-Legged! This morn, a new order rises,” Phante raised his arm and pointed to the top of the butte. “The Order of the Stone. I claim the Butte for the Realm of Arhdahl!”

Thoralf watched as hundreds of Two-Leggeds struggled to carve a narrow path in the cliff face. Toiling precariously close to the edge, they chipped away at the stone, creating a route that would eventually reach to the top of the butte. “Their work is near complete,”

“Aye,” Shwane agreed.

“It is a sad day for Airhini.”

Shwane nodded. “Aye,” he said gravely as he spotted a familiar figure emerging from the boulders that marked the beginning of the path. Phante walked to join three other Two-Legged. “It is time.”

“Be strong, my husband, you carry my heart.”

Shwane wrapped his arms around Thoralf, hugging her tight. “As you carry mine,” he said before releasing her. He pressed his hand against her cheek for a moment then turned and quickly walked to where the group of men stood talking.

Phante watched Shwane approach. “Continue our toil,” he told the men with him. “We soon will step upon the butte.”

“I say again,” Shwane told Phante, “you must stop and return to the valley.”

Phante laughed. “You hold no place in the new order.”

“I serve the Realm of Airhini. As so should you.”

“No more. I serve Arhdahl.”

“Of what you speak is not right,” Shwane said. “For all time, the Realm of Airhini has been at peace. The Two- and Four-Legged living in the valley and the Winged living atop the butte.”

“No more,” Phante declared. “No more shall Two-Legged speak of the Realm of Airhini. No, this eve the moon will rise over the House of Oneida in the Realm of Ahrdahl.” Phante smiled. “Look about, Shwane. Two-Legged stand ready to follow me to Ahrdahl.”

“And what of the Winged?”

“They will live here, with the Four-Legged.”

“And if they choose not?”

“Then they will breathe not.”

“The butte is reached,” a Two-Legged shouted as he ran down the path, his announcement greeted enthusiastically by those waiting to leave the valley for a new home.

Phante smiled. “Join us, Shwane?”

“No, Phante. I serve Airhini.”

Phante reacted swiftly. Pulling a polished stone blade from within the folds of his sash and swinging his arm in a wide sideways arc. Shwane gasped when the blade sliced into his side. “Then you serve no more,” Phante exclaimed while thrusting the knife deeper into the flesh of his shocked victim. He did not pull the blade free but waited for Shwane to collapse to the ground, releasing his own body from the weapon. “For Ahrdahl,” Phante shouted raising his arm into the air, blood and flesh covering both blade and hand. “What say you now, Shwane?” he asked the man dying at his feet.

Shwane struggled to stand but could not. Blood flowed freely from his wound and he found each breath to be more difficult than the last.

Phante turned away from Shwane, leaving the Leader of the Two-Legged to die unable to see anything but his back. “With your last breath, the Realm of Airhini is no longer.”

Thoralf gasped and grabbed her side. The pain was like none she had felt before and it forced her to her knees. She released a low, mournful cry.

From the shadows of the forest a cloaked figure emerged. The Crone shuffled to Thoralf and reached down a gnarled hand. “Rise.”

“I cannot.”

“You must.”

“My husband…”

“Shwane served Airhini but now he breathes not. Rise.”

“I can not.”

“Look about. Others feel of Airhini as did Shwane. Now they wait for command. Shwane can not. You must stand in his stead.”

Ignoring the pain, Thoralf pushed herself up from the ground and did as she had been instructed. All along the base of the butte, Two-Legged and Four-Legged stood ready to defend their Realm.

Badger rumbled over to Thoralf. “The Winged are already in battle. The Four-Legged will join them.”

Thoralf turned her gaze to the top of the butte where the sky was full of Winged as they struggled to drive Phante and his followers from the butte. She accepted a spear held out to her by the Crone then turned to the place she had last seen Shwane alive.

“His strength is your strength,” the Crone told her.

Thoralf raised the spear high above her head. “For Airhini,” she cried as she ran toward the the path.

All along the foot of the butte… all along the length of the path… all over the top of the butte, Two-Legged, Four-Legged, and Winged joined in battle against Phante and his followers. Day turned to night then back again until only one Winged was left to defend the butte.

“He is wounded,” a Two-Legged told Phante.

“Yet, he fights.”

“Aye.”

“You have naught to gain, Feath. All others breath not.”

“I defend Airhini,” the injured Leader of the Winged declared. His wing was broken and, unable to escape, he had been backed into a field of boulders where he was being attacked from multiple sides.

“Airhini is no more. You defend not. Cease your struggle,” Phante commanded as he inched nearer to Feath, being careful to stay out of reach of the Winged’s deadly talons.

Realizing his fight would soon be over Feath grew still. His feathers were covered in blood and one wing hung useless but he drew himself up to his full height and ruffled his wings into place at his sides. “Listen to my final words, Phante,” he said in a surprisingly strong voice. “In the name of the Realm of Airhini, I curse you. From this eve forward, all who carry your blood will bear a mark.”

Phante laughed. “What of this mark? How will it harm me?”

“You will bear the mark of the Assassin of the Winged.”

Phante laughed again. “Your words hold no power. With your last breath, the Wing will be no more,” he said raising his arm and driving his sword into Feath’s chest.

“It is done?” a Two-Legged asked after watching Feath crumble to the ground.

“No,” Phante answered. “Clear them from the butte. I want none left. Clear their bodies and their nests.”

“What is to be done with them?”

“Send them over the edge to rot in the abyss of what was once.”

Thoralf knelt beside Shwane. Carefully, she turned him onto his back being careful to cradle his head in her hands.

Badger rested beside Thoralf, her front paw bandaged. “You will join the others on the butte?” She looked up as another body was hurled off the cliff by Phante’s victorious forces. In the eve’s growing darkness, she watched the lifeless body drop until her weak eyes could no longer discern it from the shadows cast by the cliff’s rough surface. “Airhini grieves,” she said, saddened by the sight. “Go. The path is to be sealed soon.”

“No. My place is with my husband.”

“You must go.”

“For what purpose?”

“To serve Airhini.” The Crone materialized from the night’s shadows and shuffled to Thoralf.

“I serve no more. I will remain with Shwane.”

Groaning from the effort, the aged Crone knelt down beside Thoralf. “Your bond was strong,” she said placing a hand over Shwane’s heart.

“Aye.”

The Crone shifted her hand to Thoralf’s belly. “His heart beats within you.”

Thoralf placed her hand over her own heart. “Aye, it has always been so.”

“No,” the Crone took Thoralf’s hand and placed it over her belly. “His child grows.”

Thoralf gasped. “It cannot be so,” she said although she desperately hoped the Crone spoke the truth.

“His child lives. You must join the Two-Legged on the butte.”

“I can not,” Thoralf said sadly. “To raise Shwane’s child among his…”

The Crone looked into Thoralf’s eyes. “One day, one will be born who will return order to Airhini.”

“My child?”

“Aye.”

“I do not understand. A child of Shwane will not be welcomed on the butte.”

“Not today,” the Crone agreed. “But another day, when memories have faded and most know not of Airhini.” The Crone placed her hand over Thoralf’s. “This child will stay within you until that day.”

“How can that be?”

“Your strength. And the strength of Shwane will make it so.”

Wolf trotted up and placed a book on the ground. “Is this the book of which you asked?”

Badger nodded. “Aye. You serve Airhini well.” After Wolf backed off several steps, Badger addressed Thoralf. “Take this book, it is written by Shwane’s hand. It speaks true of Airhini. One day, your child will call upon you to read from the book.”

“The call is given for all Four-Legged to enter the path,” a shout came out of the darkness.

The Crone handed the book to Thoralf. “Take your child to the butte. Come forward,” the Crone beckoned to a Four-Legged standing nearby. “He is Teacher. The blood of his blood will keep the memory of Airhini in their hearts. They serve as do you. Go. Before they close the path.”

Thoralf bent over and placed a final kiss on Shwane’s lips then stood, helping the Crone to stand with her.

“He will wait.”

“For how long?”

“Until your service is complete. Go. The last warning has been sounded. Trust none but the Protector.”

Thoralf nodded and with a final look upon her husband, she allowed herself to be guided toward the boulders that marked the path’s beginning. As she walked, she tucked Badger’s book into her pack so none would see it.

“It is a long journey,” Badger said to the Crone.

“Aye.” The Crone responded then disappeared into the darkness.

Thoralf walked up the path, aware that two guards followed several steps behind. Any Four-Legged who had chosen to remain in Airhini would not be allowed on the butte once the guards reached there. Wanting one last look of the valley where she had lived and loved, she stopped and turned. It was too dark to see much more than the few torches and campfires of those who remained. As she was about to continue, her eyes caught movement behind the guards. Just then, a sliver of moon appeared behind the night’s clouds and she spied a fox walking up the path. And with each step the fox took, the path behind vanished from sight. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her but as she watched she became convinced they were not.

“One last look?” one of the guards asked when they came upon Thoralf.

She smiled. “Aye.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 Silence met the end of Thoralf’s reading, those who heard unsure of the meaning behind the story.

Milas walked to stand beside Thoralf and gently placed a hand on her forearm. “Mother? Is it true? Am I the daughter of Shwane?” Her mother nodded.

“It cannot be,” Kala whispered.

“You speak not true,” Micah declared.

Thoralf spun around to face the council member. “Why do you say thus? Do you not think I know my own husband? Do you not think I know his child?”

“That which you claim happened long ago. He of which you speak never served this Realm.”

The crone stepped forward. “You speak as one who knows Thoralf’s words to be truth, Micah. How can that be if the story be false? Your words betray you, just as the founder of your house betrayed Shwane.”

“No! You speak not true.”

“Then show us your mark,” the Crone demanded. “Show that you bear the mark of Feath’s curse. Is that not reason for the mark of the House of Oneida to never be witnessed by another?”

“I have no need to prove my bearing. All from the House of Oneida serve the Realm. You need seek no more proof.”

Mumblings both of agreement and disagreement stirred through the crowd.

Thoralf turned to address those gathered before the Council. “The House of Oneida is the oldest in the Realm of Arhdahl. Is it not?”

“You speak true,” someone called out.

Thoralf continued her questioning. “What name founded the House?” Many in the crowd turned to ask those around them while others simply shook their heads when the answers were not forthcoming. “Speak, Micah. Speak the name,” Thoralf demanded of the council member. “Does the name shame you?” she asked when Micah remained silent.

Calls for Micah to comply came from the crowd.

“I would speak the name with honor,” Micah declared boldly.

Though his voice was strong, Micah’s hands shook nervously. He glared at Thoralf, silently demanding she retract her question.

“We wait.”

“Phante!”

A collective gasp issued from the crowd. “The story be true,” someone declared then many others began shouting questions until no single voice could not be discerned from the others.

Daidam raised her arms, asking for silence. “There is much we question,” she said when the crowd quieted. “Much we have a right to know. But first…” She took the book from Thoralf and held it high above her head. “First, we must know the book be true. Micah, in the name of Shwane, leader of the Two-Leggeds of the Realm of Airhini, I demand you show us the mark of the House of Oneida.”

“I will not. You have no—”

“You must comply,” the Crone demanded.

“You know not what you ask of me?”

Kala looked out at the sea of faces before the council, each anticipating the response to Daidam’s request. “It is the way of the Realm,” he told Micah, “a request made of the Council may not be refused.”

“You risk what may become?”

“The truth of the prophesy stands before us, Micah. Show your mark.”

Micah untied his sash then pulled his shirt free. Turning to stand with his back to the crowd, he slowly revealed his birthmark.

“I’ve not seen such an object,” a voice near the front of the crowd cried out. “How know we this is the mark of which Thoralf spoke?”

Milas removed the feather she had tucked safely into her belt before leaving the Realm of Airhini, she held it up for all to see. It matched the mark on Micah’s back exactly.

“What be it?”

“The mark of the Wing,” Daidam explained. “He bears the mark of the curse for all the Winged who fell before Phante’s blade.”

“And the shame,” Milas added.

Micah let his shirt drop as he spun to face Milas. “Speak not so boldly. You bear the mark same as I. You were born of the House of Oneida.”

“No!” Thoralf cried out. “Milas is of the blood of Shwane. I bore her in the Fortress of Arhdahl for the House of Alasdair. You, Micah, declared her to be fair.”

“No. Two were born that day. One of Oneida and one of Alasdair. The Crone will give witness. She tossed the bones and declared that the child of Oneida would breath life into the prophesy.”

“Then Milas was not that child,” Thoralf declared.

“Aye, she was,” Kala stated. “The second child, the one of Alasdair, the bones gave no such reading.”

“I do not understand,” Milas said. “I am of the House of Alasdair. Do I not bear its mark?”

“The marks were changed to defeat the prophesy,” Kala explained. The child of Oneida was given to Thoralf.”

“You speak not true,” Thoralf challenged. “Shwane’s blood flows in Milas. Not the traitor’s.”

“It cannot,” Micah proclaimed. “Speak true, Crone. Tell of that day.”

“Your words tell not all,” the Crone began. “It be true that two were born that day— the first of Oneida, the second of Alasdair. They were brought to the chamber for the bones to be tossed.”

“It is as I said.”

“That is how they were born,” the Crone continued as if Micah had not spoken. “It is not as they were brought into the chamber.”

“That cannot be. They bore the marks of their Houses.”

The Crone smiled. “Marks can be changed, can they not, Micah?”

Micah took a moment to understand the meaning of the Crone’s words. “You tricked us. You changed the marks so the prophesy would breathe.”

“Aye, I changed the marks but the prophesy took first breath the eve the Winged took last. It needed only for one to believe in the ancient wisdom to be born for it to take life.”

“I am that one,” Milas said proudly. But the Crone shook her head. “Am I not to lead the two-leggeds back to the Realm of Airhini?”

“Aye. But another’s belief opened the path.”

Milas looked around at those standing near her. “It be Daidam who saw the path and followed it to the Realm below.”

“No,” Daidam protested. “I serve not the prophesy. Do I?” she asked the Crone.

“Aye. You serve. Your heart sees truth, even when your eyes do not. You did not strike when you discovered Milas in the forbidden zone. You strove to save her from the blade.”

“Yet, she fell. As did Father.”

“You followed, did you not?”

“Aye. But to bring Father home.”

Kailen rushed forward. “Yet, you did not. Why did you not bring him home?”

Daidam paused before answering her brother. “He is home.”

“You speak not true. The Abyss—”

“No. Airhini is our home. It is where the two-leggeds belong. Not high on this butte where food is little and holes must be scraped into the rock for shelter. I have seen the forests of trees standing tall. Fields of grain and orchards bearing such plenty their crops fall to the ground to rot before it can be eaten. And rivers that flow deep and wide with endless source to quench our thirst.”

“How know you we belong there?

“I have seen the huts of two-leggeds of long ago. Cut from trees not stone. With beds that are soft not hard. And each with a pit for fire to cook and warm.”

“Do you speak true?”

“Aye, Kailen. Long ago, Airhini was home of the two-leggeds.”

“Daidam speaks true,” Milas declared. “Airhini offers plenty when we have little.”

“Then we are to live there again?” someone asked.

“Aye. But different from Arhdahl. The four-legged serve Airhini, both before and since the time of Shwane. As did the Winged before Phante betrayed them.”

“If we leave the butte, how will we serve Arhdahl?”

“We serve Airhini,” Milas answered. “Arhdahl will be no more. The butte will return to the Winged.”

“Yet, they are no more.”

“The butte will honor their memory. Their bones will return to their home.”

The Crone raised her staff high above her head. “Arhdahl has fallen,” she pronounced in a strong voice that spread over the entire surface of the butte. Not one in the Realm escaped hearing the Aged’s declaration. “The prophesy has become.”

“You face a journey of great length,” Thoralf told Milas. They were standing before the Council platform, now empty. Daidam waited nearby. All others had returned to gather their meager belongings in preparation for leaving the next morn. Seeing the look of concern on her daughter’s face, she asked, “You doubt?”

“I am yet young.”

“Aye.” Thoralf reached out and caressed her daughter’s face. “You are your father’s daughter. His strength is here,” she said as she placed her hand over Milas’ heart. “His wisdom here,” she moved her hand to Milas’ forehead.

Milas nodded. “With you beside me, my doubts exist no more.”

“No, daughter. I cannot make the journey with you. My place is with my husband.”

“I do not understand.”

Thoralf hugged her daughter then turned Milas in her arms. “Look.”

A man unknown to her stood near the stone gate to the fortress, his features easily seen in the bright moonlight. He smiled.

“Father?”

“Aye. He has waited much time for this eve. As have I.”

“You are to leave me?”

“My time passed long ago. My bones are weary and my heart yearns for my husband. Do not doubt your way, daughter. Your heart beats true.”

“My heart will mourn you, Mother. As it will, Father.”

“As ours will you, Daughter. Your father waits.”

Milas wrapped her arms around her mother and hugged her tightly. “Go. Father should wait no more.”

Daidam watched Thoralf walk toward the fortress gate where a mist of light beams, too numerous to count, tightly spun to form a misty cloud roughly the size of a grown man. Thoralf walked into the mist then both disappeared.

“It was Father,” Milas said in response to Daidam’s shocked gasp.

Daidam was surprised to find Milas standing beside her. “Their hearts beat as one?”

“Aye.”

“It is as it should be.”

“Aye.” 

SEVERAL MORNS LATER

 Daidam stood at the edge of the butte where the beginning of the path to the valley floor dropped over the precipice. The last of the Two-Leggeds had begun their return to Airhini leaving only herself and their new leader, Milas, atop the butte.

“Who comes?” Daidam asked as the sound of pebbles scattering on the path announced an approach.

“I am a friend.”

“Crone, you speak true.”

“The butte is empty?”

“Aye,” Daidam assured her. “The Realm of Arhdahl is no more.”

“As it should be,” the Crone said before shuffling over to where Milas was perched on a boulder overlooking the valley. “You seek an answer,” she stated.

“You knew of my father?” Milas asked.

“Aye.”

“I am troubled.”

“Do not seek what is not in your future. Shwane served Airhini well, as will his daughter.”

“You speak true?”

“Aye. Your young shoulders bear much, Milas. It would be comfort to share the weight.”

“There are many to serve Airhini.”

“But only one with the true heart.”

Milas gazed upon her friend when Daidam joined them. “Badger spoke of one to trust,” she told Daidam.

“Aye. She spoke of Thoralf.”

Milas shook her head.

“She spoke of the Crone?”

Again, Milas shook her head. “Only this morn, do I understand her words. She spoke of you, Daidam. It be your birth that brought life to the prophesy. You see what others would not. You hear what others refuse. Your heart beats true, Daidam, I understand and I seek your strength. I seek your wisdom. Stand beside me as Two-Leggeds return to Airhini. I ask.”

Without hesitation, Daidam dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “Milas, Leader of the Two-Leggeds, I serve.”

Milas stood then gently pulled Daidam upright. “The Realm of Airhini, we serve.”

“Aye. For the Realm.”

“It is time we join the others. Come, Crone. The eve nears.”

“Two-Leggeds and Four-Leggeds will serve the Realm. There is another to awaken.” The Crone stood but instead of moving toward the path, she shuffled to the edge of the precipice. “Milas, daughter of Shwane and Thoralf, witness the return of the Winged.” Once the words had been spoken, the Crone leaned forward until her weight carried her off the cliff.

Milas and Daidam rushed to the edge of the butte.

The Crone fell headfirst, her arms outstretched. As she gained speed, the wind ruffled the folds of her robe and it transformed into thick feathers. Her bent body straightened and grew. Gnarled and twisted hands became talons, sharp and strong. The furrowed and creased features of her face became sharp and distinct.

The Crone was no more.

Feath plunged downward, his feathers rippling with the strength of the wind that blew through them. He rushed toward the sacred bones at the base of the butte. Testing muscles unused for generations he beat his powerful wings against the air to halt his descent. Swooping above the pile of bones, his wings almost touched the ground as he circled the butte. In his wake, ancient bones and feathers stirred and lifted into the air. Bone connected with bone and feathers weaved together to cover them.

Badger sat beside Wolf and Coyote. Stretching out to either side of them were all the Four-Leggeds of the Realm, their heads upraised. As they watched, Feath completed his cycle of the butte and began his return to the top of the massive cliff. Slowly, first one, then another, and another Winged joined their leader until there were too many to count. Their ascent measured by a dark ring of Winged that rose from the foot of the butte to its rim.

Before they could see the Winged, Milas and Daidam heard the thunder caused by their beating wings. Feath led the Winged over the lip of the butte then, as one, they flew the length of the butte before returning.

Feath dropped lightly from the air to stand before them.

“I welcome your return,” Milas told the Winged Leader.

“As I yours. It is time for you to leave the butte. Go before the eve falls.”

Milas nodded. With quick steps, she and Daidam hurried to the path and down to the valley.

With each step, the eve grew darker.

Unseen in the darkness, Fox trotted behind. Her bushy tail sweeping away all evidence a path had ever been.

THE END

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